How We Live
by stllrmno
Summary: Draco Malfoy worked as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic; but it did not come along with his job description to be Hermione Granger's bodyguard. He wondered what Hermione had done this time for her to be the Ministry of Magic's top priority. DH. AU. Post-War. My first Dramione fanfic. Rated M for possible sexual content, themes, and violence. R&R.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

Hermione Granger ran. Even if her breath had seemed to get lost in its way through her body, she didn't stumble. Her feet almost gave up from running. She couldn't remember how far she's made it; all she knew was that she _needed_ to keep going. She wished she had the time to take her coat before she took off because it was damn cold to run in her nightgown, barefoot, and there was not anything else left for her to wipe off the dried blood from her hands because her dress had been soaked in it too. Her knees buckled, almost caving in; her hands were empty, and she wouldn't have felt so helpless if she had her wand, but the chances of her giving a good fight was too slim.

 _What had happened?_ She kept asking herself, and finally she reminded herself: _Run, Hermione, run._

Tears gathered in her eyelids. She did her best to keep them in, not letting a slight whimper, when all she wanted to do right now was to cry, to let her emotions in just for one minute—but no, they'd find her. Now, she didn't know where to run. Her energy had long been wasted from all the running, so there wasn't left enough for her to apparate. But if she did, where would she even go? She was not nearly safe anywhere. Asking her friends would've been too much. They needn't be involved in her affairs—especially this mess.

But perhaps that was not the entire reason she hadn't come to them; perhaps she thought that if she told them the truth about what had happened, to explain the blood that had stained her nightgown, they'd hate her. They'd _blame_ her. It was Hermione's greatest fear tonight: losing everything she fought to keep as she watches it fall helplessly.

So she continued to run until she reached Diagon Alley where she saw lights. It was the first light she saw in the last twenty minutes she had been running; so she tried her best to pick up her feet. Immediately as she reached Flourish and Blotts, an unexpected blow hit her on the side, sending her tumbling down the cobblestones. Her head hit the gutter, drawing blood from her head, and the last thing she saw was a faceless figure kneeling down in front of her.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This is my first attempt to write a Dramione fanfic. I did, however, write fanfic in other fandoms before (years ago). But I was so tempted to write a Dramione fanfic after all that I've read in here; so this is my comeback piece. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Also, this might be a good time to thank my friends for editing this._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One:**

Year 2004. August 13th.

Draco Malfoy arrived at the Ministry of Magic at exactly fifteen past nine in the morning. There had been less clouds outside, which meant that he gathered so much heat from the sun during his fifteen minute walk from his apartment to the Ministry. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead dripping in beads of sweat, and underneath his robes, the heat from the outside remained with him.

He could've taken the Floo, but he generally liked walking in the morning. It gave him time, even so short, to think before he returned back to work. His work took too much of his day that having dinner with his beloved Mother had been difficult to fit in his schedule. Even having a few drinks with his friends, he did not have the time; which sometimes, he receives a few Howlers from Pansy Parkinson on him cancelling again.

When he arrived the Auror's office, a rupture of loud murmur welcomed him as Draco walked through the doors. Some Aurors, including Dean Thomas, eyed him carefully as he entered for reasons he did not know; but Blaise Zabini—a close and family friend—slipped smoothly to his side as if an escort would, and finally broke the silence, "Before you ask me, I know enough; but that does not mean that I can, and will, disseminate the news to you just yet. So, it'd be best that you see Minister Shacklebolt in his office." Blaise separated from him as they passed by an intersection before Draco could have the chance to ask him more. It was not much to begin with, but Blaise's reservation intrigued him.

Blaise had never been subtle. Draco never had any difficulty in reading through Blaise before. If Blaise was anything, he was nothing but transparent. Draco had known Blaise Zabini almost his entire life. Their pureblood families had been tied together in most affairs, having to believe the same principles about blood purity, and it was safe to deduce that it was enough time for him to truly see through Blaise.

He decided to stop at his office first before going to the Minister's office. His secretary, Shirley Newton, immediately stood when he came by. She had naturally black hair pinned into a tight bun, and a few curls loosed at the side of her face, and her clothes disheveled from whatever she had been doing for the past hour.

Draco took a glance at the woman standing inside her tiny cubicle before asking, "Has there been any telegrams for me?" Shirley presented him a handful, as he had already expected, and he checked the first few telegrams. Most of the telegrams were from Pansy Parkinson (inviting him again to a yet boring tea party), his mother (sending her daily telegrams for her beloved child), and the rest were work-related. It was awfully quiet as he checked the mail; and so he let out an irritated grunt, asking Shirley to tell him what he needs to know before she pisses herself.

"Minister Shacklebolt requires to see you, Mr. Malfoy. Immediately," she stuttered.

"I gathered as much," Draco muttered. He slipped the telegrams in his pockets. "Has Harry arrived already? I'm eager to start the Northon case." Shirley shook her head. Draco sighed, "Well then, tell him when he arrives that I need his report on his visit to Azkaban." Draco also asked the woman to bring his briefcase inside his office as he would go straight to the Minister's office.

During his short walk to the Minister's office, he walked past Ron Weasley's office. He couldn't help but notice a few men coming in and out of the office, taking loads of boxes filled with—what Draco guessed to be—files about the Death Eaters' prosecution cases. Draco saw too many things happening all at once, as if the world had been shattered into puzzle pieces and none of the pieces fit anymore. He wondered what had happened in the last ten hours he had been gone.

He greeted the Minister's secretary at his arrival and was told to walk straight through. Politely, he knocked softly at the Minister's front. Not long, the door latched itself open. Draco walked in subtlety with his grey eyes landing on the tall, dark man seated behind the desk.

"Mr. Malfoy, good morning," Minister Shacklebolt said, lightly. "Well, not as much due to recent events. But, please take a seat." Draco didn't know what to make out of that statement, but he sat. "Would you like some tea?" Draco nodded. Draco could only do so much, and for the first time, it terrified him. He was lost for words. He was never lost for words. Draco had always known what to say about most things; however, since there had been no memo to what happened in the last few hours, he did not know where to place himself.

Soon, their tea arrived. The Minister's secretary delivered them and left as soon as she placed it on the counter desk. Minister Shacklebolt went around to prepare their tea. Draco heard a soft sigh from the Minister, leading him wonder what was it so important that everyone in the office had their arses turned. He wanted to ask; however, it also seemed wrong to impose himself—not now, that he was good at his job and his family name had been cleaned.

"Have you seen the papers?" The first question Minister Shacklebolt asked added to the hints of what had happened. But Draco shook his head. The Minister let out another sigh. It was heavier than the first one. "Well," the Minister continued, for a moment lost for words too. Draco watched the Minister carefully, studying his moves and gestures, the inaudible sighs and grunts, the heavy atmosphere of the spacious office.

The Minister handed over the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. The headlines broke through Draco as if someone had smashed a plate on his head—startling and terrifying—with his mind finally connecting the dots to the mystery at hand. Under the headlines, a photograph of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, smiling at each other, seemed contradictory to what the headlines informed.

 _ **Ron Weasley, found dead in his home; Hermione Granger, on the run?**_

 _ **by: Rita Skeeter**_

 _Earlier this day, August 13th, at about 3:00 AM, a group of Aurors found Ron Weasley, dead, in his home with multiple stab wounds. The entire house had been a wreckage; and according to Dean Thomas (Ron Weasley's partner), there was a high probability that a fight ensued prior—and possibly the cause—to his death. Finding Ron Weasley was a result of finding Hermione Granger in Diagon Alley._

 _Hermione Granger had been seen fleeing to Diagon Alley at 1:46 AM, wearing a blood-soaked night dress and barefoot. Coincidentally, she took a blow from a biker that immediately sent her flying across the street, resulting into a head injury. Ms. Granger was sent immediately to St. Mungo's after the said accident. There are no further reports on Ms. Granger's status._

Draco muttered under his breath. He looked up, and his eyes were met by an expectant Minister Shacklebolt. Of course, the Minister must have his reasons for calling him in and showing him the article. Draco could only guess what those reasons were. Sighing, Draco continued on reading:

 _Did the two lovers finally reached a disagreement that resulted into a bloody fight?_

 _Why was Hermione Granger running, and who were she running from? Perhaps she had something to with Ron Weasley's death. It would only be safe to assume that she used kitchen knives to kill her beloved Ron Weasley to prevent the Aurors from tracing her wand as an evidence. (Turn to page 4 for more information)_

Damn this woman. Rita Skeeter was such a pain in his arse. _In anyone's arse_ , Draco thought. He shook his head.

He wished under his breath that he did not become a part of this investigation. He had never been remotely friends, or even acquaintances, with the Golden Trio. Apart, however, from Harry Potter since they had been partnered up in most cases. Harry Potter was not too _bad_ to begin with. In fact, Harry Potter was a funny bloke and a great Auror. If he had been given the chance to change his partner, he would've picked Harry again in the blink of an eye regardless of their past. Draco did his best to forget all about it and he wished Harry had forgotten it too. The past seven years after the war were better and lighter than this entire life before that. He sighed, and thought: but the Weasel and the know-it-all, he never thought of them as being close.

Weasel was a prat. Even dead, Draco couldn't stop thinking about how perhaps the Weasel deserved it. That would've been insensitive. Regardless, his mind was settled. Weasel never rested a day, or even a minute, recalling Draco's embarrassing minutes as a ferret. It was a good laugh; but later on, it turned into a sour joke. Weasel never liked him, and Draco never liked him either. Harry was probably the only thing they both had in common. Weasel become bitter over the fact that Draco got partnered up with Harry while Weasel with Thomas; and he never let Draco live down to it.

Granger, however, was another issue. He didn't hate her at all. He never hated Granger in school because of her muggleborn status; rather he hated her because she excelled at everything he wanted to excel in (except flying, of course). Draco hated the fact that a muggleborn topped him in their classes. He hated the fact that his Father degraded him for losing over a _mudblood_. He knew that he had been a foul loathsome git to Granger, and his actions were far from forgivable; however, he would've liked if he knew her better than the _mudblood_ as his Father referred to.

The Minister finished his tea as Draco's had gone cold. Draco might need something stronger than tea after reading the papers. Of course, the article was filled with gossip and unruly rumors that were nowhere near to the truth; but the speculation was intriguing. After glancing through the papers, Draco placed it back on the desk. He looked at Minister Shacklebolt, simply asking, "What do we know so far?"

"Hermione Granger was seen at 1:46 AM in Flourish & Blotts, on the sidewalk, bleeding through her head. She was also soaked in blood all over, but it was not her blood. It was Mr. Ron Weasley's blood. Bystanders saw her running, covered in blood, and a biker taking a turn from a corner clashed with her in accident. She was brought to St. Mungo's Hospital immediately. So far, what Mr. Potter had just told me, her body received multiple spells during the attack and it would seem she fought bravely," Minister Shacklebolt explained.

 _So that's where Scarhead had been to this morning_ , Draco thought. Draco waited impatiently as to how he fitted in the story. The Minister paced, and Draco sighed heavily.

"I can see that I've tired you out. My apologies," Minister Shacklebolt stated. "As you have read from the article, it states that Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley had a, in a way, disagreement that led to this terrible fight. The hypothesis is that Ms. Granger killed Mr. Weasley in their fight; and Ms. Granger ran to avoid getting caught."

Indeed, he read that Skeeter's firm, yet unbelievable, speculation. However it was unbelievable, it was rather a compelling argument. Draco raised an eyebrow at the thought. Would she have done that? He didn't know. He never really knew her. But his gut told him otherwise. He didn't believe the article. It was nowhere possible that Draco would believe the Daily Prophet after the lies it told about him and his family after the war. He had a heated battle with Rita Skeeter and the credibility of their articles. His gut told him that the Minister does not believe the articles as well.

"But, you don't believe it," Draco stated. His voice seemed to crack as if he didn't know whether to ask that or not.

"No," the Minister finally said and paused for a while. Then, the Minister continued, "I don't. Of course, I don't. I knew Hermione. She is a good person. She would not have done this. The article is a lie. You know the Daily Prophet, they never write anything credible." Draco almost flinched at the sound of her name. Just her first name. _Hermione._

"Pardon me, Minister. But I seem to have been lost in this conversation. Where do I stand in here?" Draco inquired. He wasted a good fifteen minutes of his time, sitting and waiting for the man to finally tell him what needs to be done, and Draco itched to know what the Minister wanted him to do.

"Not lost, Mr. Malfoy. We simply have not reached that part yet," the Minister said. He sighed again. "I must ask you to postpone all your other cases. Ms. Granger's case is the Ministry's top priority as of the moment. You know, her work most likely has placed her in great danger; and so we must see to it that she is well protected…"

"But I don't see where I fit in this—" Draco started, only to be interrupted again.

"I'd like you to protect her, Draco. I'd like you to personally see and ensure her safety," Minister Shacklebolt informed. The Minister handed him a folder; and at Draco's flip, Granger's information had been collected in a bundle. Her photograph clipped at the top left was a younger Hermione Granger, perhaps only taken a little after the war as she had visible cuts on her cheek and forehead. But it did not matter. Draco had never this photograph before. He looked at the photo, and almost suddenly, he felt Granger's strong personality just by looking at her face. She had a stern look, almost as if there was nothing that could bring her down.

"Minister, I believe Harry Potter is a better candidate for this job…" Draco offered the folder back, but the Minister raised his hand to stop him.

The Minister began, "Harry Potter is closely related to both Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. He requested to the case on Ron Weasley, and I allowed him. He cannot both run after Mr. Weasley's killer and babysit Ms. Granger. Someone needs to protect Ms. Granger for she is the prime witness in this heinous crime…"

"How about other Aurors? I'm sure there are others who are good enough to protect her," Draco argued.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are by far one of the best Aurors in this department. I wouldn't ask you if there'd be someone more equipped than you are," the Minister said. Draco watched as the Minister returned to his desk and flipped some folders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to. I might need to tone down this mess before it gets worse. You might need to talk to Mr. Potter regarding these arrangements."

Draco closed the folder, nodding. He left the office as soon as he bid the Minister farewell. In his hand, he held Hermione's entire life in one folder. His pace was steady as he walked down to his office. He didn't greet Shirley when he walked by. Instead, he went straight through his office to sort his papers when he saw that Blaise had been waiting for him, sitting by the couch with a cup of warm coffee that Shirley had prepared about a few minutes ago.

"Was it ever dangerous to warn me about this?" Draco snapped at Blaise as he rounded his desk. Blaise made himself comfortable by plopping his feet over the couch. Draco wanted to rip the smirk off Blaise's mouth if he could. "This day keeps getting better and better…"

"Oh come on, Draco. Shacklebolt had me in shackles," Blaise said. Draco rolled his eyes. "He asked everyone to tone the gossips down for a day or two until we can fish whatever had happened to Granger and Weasley. Of course, it's gonna be difficult since the paper has already been published; but it's nothing but bullshit. Shacklebolt asked us if we could keep it down until he has talked to you…" Draco stayed quiet for a while. He placed his hands atop the edge of his desk, leaning down, and breathing hard. "He asked you to protect her, didn't he?"

Draco still didn't answer. He remained in silent. Thoughts poured over him like waterfalls. It made its way by force through his mind. Images of Hermione, Harry, and Ron flashed like snippets in a book. He needed to talk to Harry Potter. So he sorted his papers in his briefcase and prepared to leave, when he heard Blaise say, "Hey! Where are you going?"

Without an answer, Draco stepped into the fireplace and Flooed to St. Mungo's.

* * *

Harry Potter sat on the bench with his head buried in his hands. He wished he weren't alone. Not that he was actually alone, he was with Hermione. He had never felt alone whenever he was with Hermione. The only difference this time was that Hermione had been unconscious for the past nine hours.

Glancing over her, her head rested over a white pillow with her curls scattered around. Her cheeks were pale, and the cut on her forehead had already been stitched. She looked as if the Dementors has drained her out of colors. The Healers have dressed her in white robes and checked her vitals every two hours.

Harry was halfway asleep when Minister Shacklebolt summoned them to St. Mungo's. His senses were reawakened at the sound of Hermione at the hospital. But the other news was far worse than he had ever anticipated. The first time he heard about Ron, he didn't want to believe it. Ginny cried to him. But Harry, he wanted to cry too. He wished there were tears; however, the rage that flowed through his veins was stronger than his grief. Four hours ago, he sent Ginny to be with the Weasleys while he decided to stay with Hermione. Someone had to look after her after all.

Thinking about the Weasleys, he thought about how they were coping. The news of Ron's murder must have been striking to the family. Seven years ago, the Weasleys lost Fred in the war. Molly Weasley could barely come out of the house after that. She stopped cooking for the family for a good few months. Arthur Weasley focused on his ventures in the muggle world. The Weasley children, they all best minded their business and never talked about Fred. It wasn't that they hated Fred, it was because they hated that they had lost Fred. Harry knew how much Ginny had grieved over her deceased brother and he tried his best to be there for her; but this news about Ron, Harry wondered how much this would affect the Weasleys again. Seven years, and the Weasleys have been crawling to accept Fred's death. Now that Ron's dead too, Harry felt his heart sting at the thought of the Weasleys without Ron.

Later on, a Healer entered the room to check on Hermione again. Harry stood up to watch, not sure what needs to be done or what was going to happen now. The Healer turned to Harry with a worried look and stated, "Mr. Potter, there isn't much progress here. I'm afraid she'll still remain unconscious for a good day or two. She took quite a hard hit on her head when she tumbled; but other than that, she took great damage in her body during her battle. It might take a little while for her body to adjust, and maybe then, she'll wake up." Harry could only nod, hoping for the best. The Healer excused himself and left the room again.

Harry Potter was lost. Not in place, but in his thoughts. He wanted to say something to the Healer, perhaps a little _thank you_ , but his throat dried up in his attempts to say something. He couldn't. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know where to begin. He had asked the Minister to allow him to follow up on Ron's murder case, in hopes that if he ever found out who did this to his best friends, he would kill them too with his bare hands.

Harry had faced battle countless of times. If he didn't know any better, he was born destined to be at war. He fought his way to fit in with the Dursleys. The years during his stay at Hogwarts, he fought many battles—all the way from petty arguments up to facing Voldemort. He even works as a Auror, and his job description involved raid and combat. But in all those times, he always used magic to fight. This time, he wanted to hurt that person with his bare hands—the muggle way—because he learned that it was slower and more tormenting than a simple _'Avada Kedavra'_.

Grief didn't strike him enough. Anger was stronger than grief, and it had been his friend for the last nine hours. He had never felt this kind of anger before. It swallowed him up, all the emotions that he wanted to cry out the moment he knew. He had not just lost his best friends, he lost his family. The Weasleys had treated him like he was their own son or brother. Ron had been Harry's gateway to the family and Hermione empathized with him due to the impurity of their blood. Harry, however, had more advantage because he was half-blood. The connection between him and his best friends were undeniable that in every adventure Harry ever had, Ron and Hermione were always there. They risked their lives for each other, and Harry couldn't have asked for better best friends.

The attackers took away from Harry his best friends. Ron's gone, and Harry feared that Hermione might also be as well. If Harry both lost his best friends, he wouldn't know where place himself in this world. He wouldn't be alive if it weren't for them. They had been with each other for a long time. But Harry was not ready to give up just yet.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. Harry didn't answer, but the door opened with Draco Malfoy walking in. They both shared a sympathetic look. Harry didn't know if Malfoy was sincere, but it didn't matter. It might be a good time to talk about what needs to be done in the next few weeks while Harry pursued Ron's murderer.

"Potter," Malfoy greeted. He placed his briefcase down before pacing. His eyes wandered through the plainly looking room. The walls were white and there were no ornaments hanging around. Harry watched as he did, thinking possibly the same thing that this might be the dullest room in the wizarding world.

"Malfoy," Harry said. Neither was it spiteful, nor was it polite. It was civil. They worked together in solving cases; the least they could be was civil. Harry even spoke for Malfoy at the hearing after the war. He defended Malfoy and his mother into keeping them out of Azkaban, as a result of Narcissa Malfoy lying to Voldemort, and Lucius Malfoy's cooperation with the Aurors gained his family's freedom. It created a ruckus, of course, that Harry Potter was defending a Death Eater. Harry ignored his thoughts and asked Draco, "Have you talked to Minister Shacklebolt?"

Malfoy nodded. He took out an envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Harry, before saying, "He gave me Granger's file. He tasked me as her bodyguard for the time being while you track down their attackers." Malfoy's eyes ventured to Hermione's unconscious form. "Any news on her status?"

"There's no progress. She has been in the same position for the last nine hours. I came here as soon as I heard," Harry said. He flipped through the pages of Hermione's documents. "How will you be protecting her?"

All Malfoy could give was a shrug. Then he turned to Harry, "It's not my job to look after her. But since you've got your hands quite full, I get to babysit." Draco's sarcasm was unmistakable. Harry heard his words dripping with distaste; but he set it aside.

"I know that this is asking too much," Harry began. He heard Malfoy grumble under his breath, but he went on. "But I appreciate it if you look after her. You can help in the investigation; but your first priority is to secure her. I don't want to lose her too, Malfoy."

Malfoy snorted. He looked at Harry. Harry definitely looked as if he needed sleep. He was wearing a new set of clothes but his hair had been unruly. His eyes were rather tired, sleepless, and empty. Malfoy sighed, saying, "It's probably best if I stay here for a few hours. Go home and sleep. Or better yet, take a bath. You can come back when you're decent."

Harry couldn't distinguish between the sarcasm and sincerity in Malfoy's words. Each word was either laced with poison or pure concern. Nevertheless, Harry stood from his seat and nodded. He walked over to Hermione. His bony fingers reached Hermione's cold palm and gave her a soft squeeze, before leaning down to kiss her forehead. He then turned to Malfoy, who was watching them intently, and nodded again. It wasn't an affirmation, rather it was a goodbye. Harry walked outside the room before he apparated.

* * *

Granger remained asleep. Draco now sat in where Harry had previously been, the envelope wide open in his lap, and a warm coffee in his hand. He had been reviewing Granger's file for the last hour, and so far, it only informed him that she was a hard-arse in Wizengamot. He was impressed by her credentials; by the age of twenty-five, she had closed numerous cases on the Death Eaters, passed a bill that legitimates pay for the house-elves, and recently, her mission to end the discrimination and oppression against muggleborn wizards and witches and squibs.

Furthermore, it amused him even more when he learned that she turned every job offer she received before she finished her N.E.W.T.s. Draco thought that she didn't want to take a job because she was a war-heroine, but she wanted to be hired because she passed all of their qualifications. _That she did_ , he thought. Harry and Ron, however, immediately accepted the Auror positions without having to finish their seventh year when Shacklebolt offered.

Draco ventured into Granger's life deeper. He studied her personal life. Her parents were non-magic folks, namely as Janet and Richard Granger, and currently living in Australia. He wondered why they were in Australia while their daughter remained in London. Regardless, Granger had recently been engaged with the Weasel-bee. Of course, Draco remembered that engagement party. It did not surprise the wizarding world; it was as expected that they would end up together. He had been cordially invited, out of respect and hopes to mend the wounds left by the war, and he saw how Hermione and Ron had been happy. That had been last year, he remembered. He didn't particularly like to gossip in someone's personal affairs but right now he needed to.

He had hoped there might be a clue in this file which could point out to Granger's attacker. But he realized that it could also be from the Weasel's enemies. Out of exhaustion, he set down the cup of coffee on the nearby bedside table and stretched his arms. Draco lifted his fingers to eyes, rubbing them carefully, as keep him awake a little longer. The caffeine wasn't strong enough for it to keep him awake.

He looked over at Ganger. Her hair had gone paler and her body had thinned in a short span of time. Perhaps this might be the first time he noticed how sickly thin she looked. Her face stilled as she breathed deeply, air wheezing through her lungs like inflatables, and he was certain that it was not normal. After a little while, Draco heard a gasping noise in Granger's direction. He jumped off from his seat, sending the documents to fall from his lap to the floor, but he rushed to call for a Healer.

The Healer came with two medi-witches. They tended to Granger, and every movement was too fast for Draco to follow. They exchanged charms; but Granger's breathing hitched. Draco stood at the far end of the room. He watched and waited, not sure of what he should do. Should he call for Potter? Should he call for the Weasleys? Or Minister Shacklebolt? His feet remained firm on the ground as if its roots were planted in its deepest.

Draco watched as the Healer pumped on Granger's chest. The Healer switched from pumping to breathing in through Granger's mouth. The two other medi-witched remained as they counted. It took quite a while before Granger arched her back, with yet another gasping noise through her mouth, and Draco straightened. The Healer, and his two companions, breathed in relief and went to check on Granger's vitals again. Draco realized that she's fine. Draco stepped a little closer. He heard her breathing had become better. Her body relaxed as the Healer fixed her. But it was impossible for Draco not to notice Hermione's dark eyes hide behind its lids again.

* * *

 _Author's Note: A new chapter for everyone. I hope you enjoyed reading this one. Thanks for the support, guys. And also for my friends for criticizing._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two:**

 _This could not possibly be real._

 _Hermione thought that this was just a nightmare. Well, she—at least—wished that this was simply a bad dream. But seeing Ron on the floor with blood spilling through his open wounds, her breath hitched. She gasped, letting out a quiet whimper. He had a kitchen knife buried in his chest, but other than that, there were several cuts on his torso that put holes in his shirt. The coppery stench of his blood filled the living room; Hermione stared in horror as Ron lifted his head to meet her eyes, and she heard him choke, "Why?"_

 _Why… Hermione shook her head. She could not have done this. Merlin, this was Ron! It was her best friend and her fiancé, for that matter, and she didn't believe the speculation formed by her mind. She loved Ron; she loves him. No matter how much they fought, she did not have it in her nature to perform this act._

 _She stumbled back as Ron fell through. The knife in his chest deepened as it hit the floor with his fall; and all Hermione could do was whimper. She brought her hands to her face when she realized that her hands were covered in blood as well. Hermione sobbed. No, no, no, this is not real—this cannot be real! She convinced herself that this was a dream, and her mind was simply deceiving her. She turned to her left and then to her right, only to get caught in facing herself in a mirror that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and her face was smudged with dried blood. Her chest was covered too, and her nightgown stained as well._

 _How did this happen? What was happening? Hermione cried in fear._

 _She stumbled back. Her left foot got caught in the last few steps the staircase where she had been standing, sending her to completely fall down. "You filthy little mudblood!" She heard someone sneer but she wasn't sure as to where it came from. She was certain, though, that it was a man. A man with deep voice; someone not so familiar. Hermione's head shifted sideways. She attempted to find the source of that voice but the dark made it difficult for her to see her place. Her eyes landed back on Ron, who remained face-down and the tip of the knife impaled through his back, and his eyes were wide open._

 _Hermione saw nothing but horror in Ron's eyes. All her life, she had never thought about the possibility of this scenario. She had wished that if she were to die, her eyes would be close without any fear of the unknown. But through Ron's eyes, she could feel the guilt rushing in like water—fast and ever-flowing. How could she stop it?_

 _Is there even a way out of this dream? Is this even a dream?_

" _Your blood-traitor boyfriend deserved it, mudblood!" She heard the same voice again. Hermione sobbed hysterically. She stood while her knees shook. Her body was fueled with fear and a motivation for survival; but one last glance at Ron, her heart cracked like brittle glass. "That might be the only good thing you did, mudblood! Killing your boyfriend—"_

 _Hermione screamed, "I did not kill him! No!" Warm tears slid down her face as she wailed. She lashed out. She didn't believe this. She had to wake up now. Perhaps if she figured out a way to wake up, she would find herself back in their bed with Ron lying next to her, sound asleep. She wished, because that was the only thing she could do right now._

Hermione trashed on her bed as she dreamt. Her shoulders shook. Her body tensed. Every fiber of her was shaken as she fought for herself to wake up. Softly, there were hands on both her arms that held her quite gently. Fingers traced her skin that sent shivers through her spine. She forced herself to open her eyes, only to be met by blinding light, and a blurry figure loomed over her. She tried to fight it; but she heard a soft voice whispering to her, "Hermione, it's alright. You're safe… you're safe in here."

She didn't recognize the voice. This was not the voice from her dream, nor was it Ron's voice. Harry did not even sound like this. She knew that voice but she could not place it in her memory. The owner of that voice must been lost in her mind for a long time that she could not remember it. She took slow and deep breaths until her entire body relaxed. And just as she relaxed, her vision started fading again.

* * *

Year 2004. August 13th.

Twelve hours since Draco's arrival at St. Mungo's, he finally finished reviewing Granger's file and he resorted to reading Shakespeare's Hamlet. Seven years since the end of the war, Draco had managed to convince himself that the Muggle world was not too _bad_ at all. Just like how he thought that Harry Potter wasn't _bad_ as he imagined. He spent his free time involving himself with the Muggle world by reading through their literature, studying how mundane their lives in comparison to the Wizarding world, and learning to use Muggle equipment.

Muggle equipment proved to be handy in Draco's work and daily life. He was impressed at how Muggles survived without magic. For example, the coffee maker was rather a blessing to Draco for it saved him time to prepare coffee. Draco thought that the television was rather strange but he also found it entertaining at some point. All these efforts, of course, had been low-key. He did not hide that he was amazed by Muggles; but he did not also flaunt it like a nametag.

Draco was rather reserved. That was the reason why Draco was confused at Blaise's earlier reservation—Draco's personality revolved on reservation. Blaise had always expressed things; while Draco preferred privacy. The Daily Prophet had published articles about Draco and his family that were filled with lies, half-truths, and rumors; and Draco, during the peak of Death Eaters' fallout, fought the newspaper company at the Ministry to retract the articles. He did his best to keep his family out of the spotlight and forced the company to keep his affairs private. He hated being in the middle of chaos. He hated being the eye of the hurricane. Voldemort's ambitions destroyed Draco's. His Father strongly affirmed Voldemort's principles on blood-purity, and regardless of how Draco was raised, he did not want to end up like his Father. If he was anything, he wanted to believe that he was the opposite of Lucius.

Looking down at his right arm, he could see the faded Dark Mark that reminded him every day of his bad decisions. He took the Mark out of sheer panic and fear that Voldemort would hurt, or worse—kill, his mother. He made a choice to take it to save himself and his mother. _There were other ways of coercion_ , he thought. _Even free will can be twisted._

His confidentiality saved his family. His confidentiality maintained his family intact, even so he would do anything to cut Lucius out of the picture. He would if only his mother did not beg him to protect his Father. He loved his mother, more than anything in the world, for his mother was the only reason he was still alive and he still wanted to live.

Speaking of his mother, he heard a tapping on the nearby window. He immediately recognized the owl knocking with a note clipped between its beak. He sighed before standing to open the window. The owl stood on windowpane, and he thought about how he hated this owl, wishing that his mother would've used another owl. Before the owl could bite him, he snatched the telegram.

The telegram read: _Dearest son, I read the daily papers. The news also had already circulated in the entire Wizarding world. My colleagues could not avoid the gossip during tea time. I might only ask how you are and if you knew of these matters. I do not wish to interfere; but I am rather alarmed and concerned. Please write to me soon. I love you. Your mother._

Draco sighed, folding the telegram into its previous form. He slid it in his pockets and returned to his seat. He wondered the reason for his mother's concern. Narcissa Malfoy was never related to Hermione Granger, or the Weasleys. She did not gossip. Narcissa was anything but curious. Draco knew that there had to be a reason as to why she asked about Granger.

Narcissa wrote him telegrams every day. She never missed a day when she would not ask her son how he had been. Draco believed that this was out of fear that she might lose her son as well; so telegrams were one way of telling herself that Draco was fine. Everyone was afraid. Even he was afraid—although he had refused to admit the existence of his fear. He even refused it to be seen by anyone, not even by his mother, because he believed that fear was an irrational feeling that will simply confuse and mislead him.

Even when his Father reprimanded him when Granger did better than him, he did not show the slightest hint of fear even if he hid in his bathroom—shaking—afterwards. He did not show anyone. It was a sign of weakness. It was a sign of brick falling apart and that his foundation was not strong enough; and he knew that that could be used against him.

He did not want to be Lucius. Draco set his attention on his work as an Auror. His Father wished that he managed their family business; but as Draco wanted nothing to do with his Father, he did not allow his Father's wished be granted as well. He trained to be an Auror after he finished his last year at Hogwarts and excelled at it. Being an Auror reminded him that he was not a Death Eater; that having the Dark Mark did not mean that he wanted to be a Death Eater. His work gave him a chance to prove to himself, and to the Wizarding world, that just as everyone else, he wanted the world to be a better place.

He shook the thought out of his head when it started giving him a migraine. Draco rubbed his temples as he sat on the bench. His mind wandered through each line of the book he was reading but nothing seemed to sink in. He sighed and allowed himself to recall because stopping it would rather be pointless. He would still think about it later; so it'd be better if he start recalling now and save himself from torment.

Draco wondered at other things. He wondered when Granger would wake up. He was tired from all the sitting and waiting; but she had not made any progress. There had been instances in which she had nightmares, as he would've guessed, but it stopped every once in a while. The Healer assured him that it was probably her subconscious attempting to solve the mystery of recent events. Draco had not known that it were possible. So he only watched her intently.

As he was about to return to his reading, the door creaked. It opened wide enough for someone to walk in, and with his eyes spying through his book, he saw Potter and the She-Weasel coming in. Ginerva Weasley had bloodshot eyes, presumably from all the crying. Her arm was linked around Potter's as if she were a scared little girl lost in a forest. Potter looked better, Draco thought, and indeed he looked rather decent compared to their previous meeting.

Draco dropped the book on his side. Potter gave him a small smile while his hand reassured Ginny that it was alright. Draco watched as Ginny's eyes looked through the room, and as soon as her eyes landed on Granger, she whimpered. She let out a sob at the sight of Granger.

"Malfoy," Potter called him. Draco turned at the sound of his name. "News?" Draco only shook his head. Well, there was nothing to report. There was no attack. Granger was still unconscious. The Healers think that it might take days for her to wake up. Same news as when Potter left.

Ginny sobbed. Draco stood and caught a deadly sneer from Ginny. Of course, Draco did not recoil. He was rather neutral. Draco may have cleared his family's involved in Voldemort's vicious ambitions; but he cannot change the mindset of some people. Especially, of course, when Draco also targeted the Weasleys before. They could not have easily forgotten him and his disrespectful remarks toward them.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Ginny cried. She fell into Potter's arms which made Draco internally roll his eyes. "Who would've done this?"

"Well," Draco began. "I've looked at Granger's file. It does not seem informative on who could've attacked her like this."

"For all we know, it could've been you," Ginny glared.

"Ginny!" Potter replied as he was startled by his girlfriend's remark. Draco waved it off. "You should not have said that." Draco hid his surprise when he heard Potter defend his honor as it was the only unexpected reaction he received. He waited for Potter to say something else but Draco figured that Potter might have lost his way in trying to defend Draco and agreeing with his girlfriend.

"What? Do you honestly believe that he would just simply change so quick and start liking Hermione? Or Ron? He has always been a prat to us—most especially to Hermione," Ginny snapped. Draco expected this much reaction. At some point, he had been waiting for all this to come out and he had been waiting a long time. "Remember how he rubbed it in Hermione's face the word 'mudblood'? He even called our family 'blood-traitors'!"

Draco wanted to defend himself. But it was pointless. Ginny's mind had been fixed to despise him, and it was a rather natural reaction for how he had treated them. Without a word, he watched Ginny stormed out of the room in distress. Potter remained in his post, sighing, across the room with Draco. Draco chuckled to himself and remarked, "That went well, don't you think?"

Potter groaned. Draco wanted to laugh at Potter's reaction but did not seemed fitting in their situation right now.

"Look, Potter, it was as expected. The She-Weasel has her reasons to loathe my entire being—actually, I give her family the permission to loathe me all they want for I do not give a damn," Draco stated. Silence filled in the gap between them. It was an uncomfortable silence, and Draco prayed hard that Potter would say anything before he fell out of awkwardness.

Finally, Potter asked, "How is she?"

Draco turned to the unconscious patient. How is she? He did not know. He could only observe. The Healers did not elaborate further whenever they checked on Granger. He only said, "She has nightmares every once in a while. She'd toss and turn on her bed, sweating and panting, as if she's being chased in her dreams."

"What? Why didn't you bother to call me?" Potter inquired. His ears perked up when he heard Draco.

"It was not important. She did not woke up. We still could not ask her anything," Draco rebuffed. "The Healers say that it might have been her subconscious waking her up…" Draco wished that he could say something else but he did not have the words. He hated it when he did not know what to say.

Potter moved to Granger's bedside. He watched her. Draco wondered what he was thinking at that moment and he did not know why it intrigued him so much. Potter and Draco were not close. They were not even friends. They worked together; but going over drinks and talking about personal life, that would quite a huge leap in their so-called 'acquaintance'. Their conversations mostly revolved on work.

When Potter expressed his fear of losing Granger as well, Draco felt uncomfortable that Potter was telling him about this. This was not something Draco had anticipated. This was something that Potter should be telling the Weasleys' or Thomas or whoever else he might've been close to, but not Draco Malfoy. Perhaps Draco thought that Potter did not have other choice in this twisted situation and coming to Draco for help was nothing but desperation. _That was that_ , Draco thought, _desperation it is._

"What are your plans in this investigation?" Draco asked, just so he could break the silence that has been threatening to form again.

Potter looked at him with a shrug. "I think talking to Hannah Abbot might be a start," Potter said, and buried his hands in his pockets.

"Hannah Abbot?" Draco asked as it seemed that he have been lost again in the conversation.

"Oh, didn't the Minister tell you?" Potter asked. Draco snorted at that question. "I suppose not." Draco wanted to ask what he meant by that, but before he could, Potter continued, "Hannah Abbot was the one who tumbled with Hermione in Diagon Alley. She had just closed her shop and on her way home when Hermione seemingly came out of nowhere… How about you?"

"Well, I don't plan on doing anything at the moment. I have yet to patiently wait for Granger to wake up before I could acquire all the information. And I also need her cooperation, and agreement, on the arrangements for her protection," Draco informed. It was a simple yet boring plan. Draco was getting impatient; and if only he could shake Granger to wake up, he would've done that already.

Potter moved toward the door, ready to leave, when he turned back to Draco. "Malfoy, please call me if Hermione moves even an inch," Potter said. Draco rolled his eyes; but he saw the eagerness and mostly concern in Potter's eyes, so Draco nodded. Without a word, Potter was gone.

Draco had lost all his resources of entertainment. He shared with Granger the dullest room, and even staying here drove him insane. Not long, the door opened again. Draco expected that Potter came back for whatever reason, but instead he saw Minister Shacklebolt come in. Draco's senses were alerted at the presence of the Minister, but the Minister simply nodded at his reaction.

The Minister paced, and asked, "Has there been any progress?" Draco told him the same things he told Potter. He was already getting tired of the same inquiries; but it seemed necessary since almost everyone in the Wizarding world were worried about their war-heroine. Of course, he was certain that they were also wondering, and eager, to receive the answer to their questions—the same questions that have plagued Draco's mind for the past twelve, or thirteen, hours.

"I brought more documents from Ms. Granger's office. You might want to scan through it," the Minister claimed. The door opened, revealing Blaise Zabini who escorted the Minister to St. Mungo's with a box full of paperworks. _Great_ , Draco groaned internally. Just as when he was ready to fall asleep. He just hoped that this would waken him. "I had also persuaded the Daily Prophet to retract the article before Ms. Granger can see it. I'm sure she will be distressed if ever she knew about it. Might I request that you do not inform her of the article?"

Draco nodded. "Is there anything else you would like me to keep her from knowing?"

"You can tell her the situation. Of her fiancé's death. But leave out the conspiracy of her doing it," the Minister asked.

"You do know that she's bound to know about it one way or another, right," Draco informed the Minister. The Minister knew, of course, but there was also a slight possibility that she might not. "Fine, you have my word," Draco finally caved in. The Minister fell into silence. He must be in deep thought. So Draco broke the silence, "Have you informed her parents yet, Minister?"

The Minister frowned. "No, of course not. It would best if we did not." Draco felt the need to ask why not, but he didn't want to force onto the subject. Perhaps it was not his place to ask. Although, curiosity bothered him. He did his best to shake it off.

Draco shared a look with Blaise. Blaise stood by the door, waiting for the Minister, smirking. Draco could not think of something that Blaise would even been smirking about. This was not a situation appropriate for smirking. However, it might just be to irritate Draco, and Blaise was succeeding at it.

When the Minister and Blaise left after a few more reminders and words of farewell, Draco went over to the delivered box. He lifted the lid from its top and decided to start scanning the documents. It might be worth looking through as he waited for Granger to wake up.

* * *

 _Author's Note: There are two things I'll apologize to. First, I apologize for the short chapter. So far the plot is getting better. However, it may take me a little while before I can update again since my laptop broke down. Depends on how circumstances will be. Second, I realize that there were a few typo-grammatical errors in the previous chapter, so I apologize. I am fluent in English, however it is not my first language, so I have lapses. Anyway, thank you for the support. I would like to hear your comments and reactions about this chapter so please leave a review. It helps me write better. Any comment will do-regardless of how negative it is, I will still appreciate and welcome it. Thank you again._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three:**

Year 2004. August 16th.

The Healer checked Granger's eyes again with a penlight. Draco had never seen such deep brown eyes before. Hers were carefully detailed—the formation of her irises were designed for such emphasis.

Thirty minutes had gone by since she woke up. Draco read in her eyes the confusion, the underlying questions of recent events, but before she could've asked, Draco had already called for the Healer. Then in a while later, Harry Potter arrived immediately as soon as he received Draco's message regarding Granger's progress. Draco was rather surprised at Potter's eagerness; but he could not blame anyone for everyone wanted— _needed_ —her to wake up.

The Healers, along with Potter and Draco, were worried when Granger did not wake up sooner than they expected. Three days have gone, and Draco had mostly been with her. The Healers feared that she might fall into comatose as a result of her head injury. But the Healers were surprised, and thankful, to see Granger wake up.

 _The sooner she wakes up, the faster that they can solve the case_ , Draco thought quietly.

The Healer flicked the light on each of her eyes before checking her pulse again. Granger seemed to have gone past confusion. Draco waited for her to begin asking but she remained in silence. The Healer stepped farther than Granger and gestured as he began to write on a clipboard, "I will ask you several preliminary questions to establish that your brain functions well?" Granger nodded, and the Healer continued, "Will you please tell me your name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger," the woman on the bed answered.

"When is your birthday?"

"September 19, 1979."

"Who are your parents?"

"Janet and Richard Granger. They live in Melbourne, Australia," Hermione said. Draco could not help but notice a slight twitch in Granger's face when she mentioned her parents' names. He took a glance at Potter who has his full attention on his friend.

"Good," the Healer said. "It seems that there are no symptoms of any brain damage. Do you feel lightheaded? Or migraine, perhaps?"

Granger only shook her head. She rested her back on the pillows piled behind her. Then Draco heard her say, "I feel a bit whoozy though. Not lightheaded, rather sleepy."

The Healer smiled while taking notes, "That's good, Ms. Granger. I'm glad that you're recognizing how you feel. The sleepiness is most likely an effect of the multiple potions that we gave you… It'd be best if you rest. I'll be back in an hour." The Healer turned to the two gentlemen standing near at the end of Granger's bed, nodded, before he left.

Potter started to step toward her. Draco, however, remained at his post. He did not want to terrify Granger by his presence and unexpected involvement in the case. She looked as though she might be confused as to what Draco Malfoy was doing in her room, Draco noticed. Draco divided his attention between the world outside the window and the situation at hand. He did not want to stare at Granger. Not that she wasn't pleasing to look at; he just didn't feel comfortable. This was the witch he bullied after all; that was not simply going to fade.

Draco knew, and he strongly hoped that Granger does too, that they do not have a connection. They were not friends; not even acquaintances. Indeed he had been invited to her engagement to Ron Weasley out of courtesy, and they have both been attending a number of gatherings held by the Ministry before, but never did they ever share a moment to talk to each other. If Draco could stay in on the other end of any room he shared with her, he would. Their work-related interaction was passed down between their secretaries, and that was as far as Draco wished it remained. However, that wish seemed lost so far in space now.

Granger shifted in her bed as if to make space for Potter to sit. But he did not. Instead, Potter reached for her hand and clasped it in between his. Draco did not know what to make of this. He'd rather not watch. Draco turned to the outside world. He watched the fickle raindrop sliding across the window glass as dark clouds filled in the wide afternoon sky.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Potter asked. Draco turned back at that question, only to begin watching them again.

"Sore. I don't think that I could even stretch my legs. I feel like I have been thrown into a wall," Granger grunted. Her eyes drifted into the fingers that rested on her lap. Draco watched her as she watched Potter take a look back at Draco. _This was rather an awkward engagement. It might be nice for a time-out_ , Draco thought. Granger added, "Was I, Harry?"

Potter sighed. It was loud enough that Draco thought he exhaled every inch of his lungs. "What do you remember on the night of August 13th?" Potter asked. He did not release her hand. He kept holding it—perhaps to keep her calm as he revealed to her the truth. To think of it, that night had been far off when Draco realized.

"What night…?"

Potter and Draco shared a concerned look. Potter, concerned as his remaining best friend finally showed a symptom of what could possibly be a brain damage; and Draco, concerned as to the fact that her inability to recall might take more time than he anticipated to protect her.

Draco stepped up, since Potter had seemed to have lost his voice, and asked, "Do you remember anything that happened on August 13th? Possibly around midnight?

"Draco watched her. He saw her face tensed as recent events finally sunk in. He watched her eyes widen and her dried lips slightly agape as a deep and shallow breath escaped her throat. _Each gesture corresponded to a reaction_ , Draco thought. Granger raised her hands to cover her mouth, preventing herself from releasing any more distressful noise, but instead she failed to do so.

He could not see what was running through her mind. But he assumed that it did not involve happy memories at all. Granger's reaction said enough about what occurred during that night. Draco saw the horror in her eyes as she stared blankly into space, recalling what had transpired that late evening. He was certain that it was surprisingly horrifying for someone as knowingly courageous as Hermione Granger.

Suddenly, Draco heard that familiar noise coming out of Granger's throat. Her breathing turned shallow and fast as if she was being chased in her memories. He noticed her shoulders, all the way down to her fingertips, as they shook involuntarily. Her eyes watered; tears on the brink of falling but it did not. Draco knew that not crying, or having lost the ability to cry, was worse than crying. Potter turned to him and asked him to call for the Healer, and so he did.

Potter attempted to hold her shoulders. But his touch only made it worse. Granger was frigid and shaking, which was rather a bad combination. The Healer came with two medi-witches; the medi-witches held her arms down while the Healer dosed her with Draught of Peace. Draco could only watch what was happening. Potter paled as he stepped back. The Healer fixed Granger to lie back on her bed and rest for the time being before telling the two gentlemen that she will have to rest for now. The Healer also informed them to refrain from stressing her more if they do not want to witness such event again, and they left.

Potter walked over to Granger. He leaned down to her forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry, 'Mione." He left a soft kiss on her forehead before turning around. Potter caught Draco watching and asked him, "Please look after her while I'm gone."

Draco felt that need to snap back, _What the hell do you think I'm here for?_ But he did not. Speaking his mind might only make things worse for Potter; so instead, he only nodded. He was not, after all, heartless. Draco was indifferent, apathetic at his best mood; yet not heartless. Draco could feel and empathize but he preferred not to show any sign of emotion. He was raised that way and he figured that it would be best to keep it. Then he watched Potter walked toward the door and left.

* * *

Three hours after, Hermione woke up once again. Her head was leaning sideways, and the first thing she saw was Draco on the bench. In his hand he held a piece of paper with noticeable traces of folding. She watched his eyes drifted on each line that was written on it.

She did nothing. Only she watched him. Her breathing slowed as the memories of August 13th flashed in her mind. There was nothing that could prevent her from seeing because everything that was happening right now seemed to have been an effect of that evening. Everything she saw made her remember.

Even Draco Malfoy.

Until now, she could not think of any reason for him even being here. They were not related as far as she remembered. Both of them worked under the Ministry of Magic but they were not work-mates. He was rather better acquainted with Harry, having to work together in a lot of cases and raids. She was after all a _mudblood_ ; he was a pureblood.

"Do you like what you see?" Draco finally spoke. Hermione sighed. _Right, he was still an arrogant bastard_ , she thought. She was not surprised even for a little that he knew she was watching him; and she did not care. "Must be. You've been staring for a whole good five minutes," he finished, and refolded the paper in his hand.

Hermione slowly sat up. Her bones ached, her muscled flexed, and everything in her being seemed to have been shaken. She winced at her movements. Draco remained at his seat and watched. "Just curious," she finally said with a final grunt. Her back laid down on the pillows behind her and she felt a sudden rush of relief fill her.

"Regarding me being here?" His brows perked at her curiosity, then he said, "That is a curiosity that I had been dreading to tell you for the past… three days, give or take."

"Well, then… enlighten me," Hermione said—her voice calm and monotonous.

"The Minister has tasked me of protecting you. So, Granger, I've been assigned to _babysit_ for the next few weeks as Potter solved the mystery behind your attacks," Draco explained. Her name rolled in her tongue like sour candy.

"Why can't Harry do it?" Hermione asked. She saw him roll her eyes which she returned with a frown.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Draco snapped, "Potter heads the investigation of this case. He cannot pursue a cold-blooded killer and babysit. So instead you will have to deal with me. And if you're going to ask why me rather than any other Aurors, I'm afraid that I do not have a perfectly clear answer to that one. The Minister was simply eager to put me in on it; and yes, I am as well not pleased with it," he went on as he rose from his seat and paced.

Silence filled in. Hermione wanted to say something; but there was nothing else left to say. Her questions had already been answered, even if his response was rather bitter, she still got what she needed. However, she was not _not_ pleased with him being her protector. Draco Malfoy has a good record in his work; and Hermione knew now why the Minister had tasked him of this duty. He was good at his job. He was a professional. So for Hermione, it did not matter anymore who protected her; what mattered was the immediate arrest of her attackers.

Hermione simply nodded. Draco watched her, and she tried but failed to read him. His reservation caught her almost off guard. "Will you please give me a glass of water?" Hermione asked him. He did not hesitate and poured water in a glass before handing it to her. She took gentle sips from the glass. Water soaked her dried throat, and it felt nothing but satisfaction. She thanked him afterwards.

Quietly, Hermione thought of her next actions. She remembered the battle that occurred in their living room. Even if some of those events seemed to be only nothing but a bad dream, she found it hard to believe what was real and what was not. _The house must be a wreckage_ , she thought. Where was she going to stay now? How would she be able to work now that her life appeared to be in imminent danger? And with Draco Malfoy at her tail every now and then, she did not know how to cope with things.

 _One thing at a time, Hermione_ , she thought.

Draco broke the silence that filled the room and told her, "We need set aside our differences for the time being, Granger. And also, settle the living arrangements." _Living arrangements?_ Hermione's ears perked at the sound of that.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"The Minister asked me to protect you," Draco sighed. "I do believe that that requires me to be with you for as long as you need me. I am simply doing what I was assigned to. Wherever you go, I go; and that's what I meant with living arrangements."

"But my… our house," Hermione stuttered. She could not even mention the house without croaking. So much memories of the last year, and most especially that night, that happened in that tiny yet comfortable family home. It was a place where she and Ron had planned to build their family in the future and raise their children. Her voice faltered as she spoke. "It was… destroyed. I-I don't think I can go back there."

She remembered Ron. _Ron_ … she wanted to cry. Her chest heaved as memories of Ron flooded in unwelcomed. She could not believe that he's gone. She almost did not want to believe it. But she saw him with her own eyes. And the events that happened might not seem so clear or complete in Hermione's mind, it was enough for her to grieve. She grieved of Ron's death, and her inability to do anything about it.

There were no tears to be released anymore. She cannot show any sign of weakness to Draco. She spent the last few years to build herself up again, to convince herself that she had a place in this world, and that despite her muggleborn-status, she was an important member of the Wizarding world. She was not going to allow Draco to shatter her pieces again. Her reverie was shattered as Draco spoke.

"Fine then," Draco said. "We'll settle in my flat at the moment. It is spacious enough for five people, and I'm the only one living in it. Might be nice to live with a flatmate, though." Hermione fell quiet and nodded. "Oh, and by the way, Harry brought some clothes over. He said that Ginny's nice enough to lend you some trousers for now since Harry guessed that you wouldn't want to return to your house after the attack. Considerate, is he not?"

 _Sarcastic_ , Hermione snorted.

Both their heads turned to the door at the sound it made when it opened, revealing a Healer that walked in. "Glad that you're finally awake, Ms. Granger," the Healer spoke. She walked over to Hermione and checked her vitals again. "It seemed that your recovery is faster than I expected. I take it that that's a good sign that you're well enough to be discharged tomorrow. We will have to keep you for another twenty-four hours for further observation. There are some symptoms that we might need to watch out for and their occurrence may just be delayed, so we'll check for that. Will that be alright, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione nodded. She did not ask anything. "Well then, I will leave you to it." The Healer nodded to Hermione, then to Draco, before leaving.

For the next few minutes, Hermione thought of the upcoming days. She would living under the same roof with Draco Malfoy. He tormented her with loathsome words, dubbed her as nothing but a worthless and classless _mudblood_ , and even if that had already been buried in the past, Hermione still felt uncomfortable with Draco. However, despite their differences, she trusted the Minister's judgment. The Minister wouldn't have placed Draco as her protector if he was not equipped for it.

She did not hate him. Regardless of how he made her feel. Regardless of the words he spoke of her. Regardless of his arrogance and selfishness. Regardless of _everything_ he did to her. She did not blame him for how he acted; he only acted upon how he was raised to act. His actions then were mere representations of his environment; and his actions now were representations of how he has developed as a better person.

Perhaps she could not yet see his change. But how he acted toward her now said more than enough. He did not despise her now. He was indifferent. He did not care about her; he only cared for the job. And so did Hermione. She did not care about him and his judgments; she only cared for her safety. He was right, after all. They needed to set aside their differences in order for this to work out. It was however for the benefit of both.

"Well," Draco said. He glanced over the room; and it was the first time that Hermione noticed the boxes that had been scattered. Some were closed, some were empty and open. She recognized some of the boxes and knew that Draco had been doing his own investigations. "I've been looking over your work to see if there would be a hint as to who would've done this. So far, my trail has gone cold…"

Hermione let out a sigh. Even she did not have a clue who would do this. Hermione was one of the few youngest witches, or member, of the Wizengamot. It was the Wizarding's high court of law. She pursued high-profile cases for the last four years that she had been working there; voting against the Death Eaters' release, setting up sentences, pushing up the bill for house elves to be paid and now the anti-discrimination law for the muggleborns and squibs. The law legitimates the punishment and imprisonment of those who fail to comply or show respect muggleborns and squibs. Her influence and judgment in the Wizengamot was valued by other members, and she was thankful for being a part of it.

* * *

Year 2004. August 17th.

Minister Shacklebolt arrived at St. Mungo's eight minutes to ten in the late morning. Behind him, Harry Potter followed as they walked up to Hermione's room. Together, they passed a couple of Healers and medi-witches until they finally reached their destination.

When they came in, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy packing up the boxes that had been scattered around the room. The Minister saw Hermione afterwards, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and dressed in normal clothes. Draco greeted the two gentlemen that came in. The Minister nodded at his greetings. Harry walked over to Hermione and gave her a slight squeeze. Hermione winced at Harry's embrace and Harry apologized.

The Minister asked, "How are you feeling, Ms. Granger? Are the Healers treating you well?"

Hermione nodded in response. Her body still ached, but she can now move better than yesterday. Sitting up and walking around helped. Draco assisted her in some of her movements, especially whenever she needed to go to the loo. "Well, I'm better than yesterday, that's for sure," Hermione responded and smiled faintly.

"Have the Weasleys visited you yet?" The Minister asked, and Harry sighed once the question was out in the air.

Hermione looked down. She wanted to see them; but she knew that with Ron's death, and her possible involvement, she didn't press on seeing them. It might be too much for them to see her right now. Yesterday, Hermione came to face the possibility of her killing Ron. She remembered her nightmare well as if it was imprinted in her head. She remembered Ron's face, the terror in his eyes as he fell, and she could not erase it. Hermione had asked Draco who were the primary suspects and despite his sugarcoated responses, she gathered as much that she was a prime suspect. She was after all in the house with him; she did after all run away in a blood-soaked dress and blood-stained hands.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure they'll eventually come around," Harry reassured her. Hermione heard in his voice that even he wasn't sure of anything. Perhaps he was only saying that to comfort her since the Weasleys were some of the few people who Hermione considered family. Her real parents were indeed in Melbourne, Australia, pursuing their careers as dentists, and still with no memory of her.

During the war, Hermione decided to erase her existence from her parents' memories and charmed them into deciding to move to Australia, which was as far enough from the brewing war; so they would be safe. Hermione sought them out after in hopes to reverse the memory charm. However, the Healers have advised her not to pursue them again since they had already filled the gaps in their memories that were once hers with new memories and altering their memories might cause brain damage. So Hermione left them on their own.

The Minister said, as he realized that he asked the wrong question, "Well, I'm glad that you're ready to go. But I must inform you that your work will have to be ceased at the moment to pave way for the investigation." Hermione looked as if she wanted to protest, but the Minister was not yet finished talking, and so he continued, "If our assumption is correct, that your work may have been a trigger to this attack, then it might be best if you leave at it at the moment. The situation is crucial, and we must exercise every precaution necessary. I've asked Mr. Malfoy here to protect you and keep you in house arrest for a while. Not because you're a suspect, but because you're a person of interest in this crime. You are after all the prime witness to this crime."

"But what about my bill? The hearing for my anti-discrimination bill is due in two weeks!" Hermione exclaimed.

The Minister raised his hand, "That will have to be continued after the investigation. I'm sure there are other bills that can be discussed in the meantime. We are not rushing, anyway. We just need to be careful."

Hermione could only sigh. There were no arguments left for her to say. She knew that she lost this battle before she could even begin. The Minister was right. Afterwards, the Healers presented Hermione papers to be signed. Hermione was getting out of St. Mungo's. She was returning to the real world where her life was in danger. Draco offered her arm, which Hermione hesitantly took, and disapparated both of them back to his flat.

Upon arriving, Hermione stood on the sidewalk with Draco at her side. She stared at a seven-floored establishment with four windows on each row that faced her. Some of these windows had light, and others don't. "Welcome home," Draco muttered. "The building is heavily warded. I checked it myself the first time I moved in; so there's nothing to be worried of. I even added some wards of my own. I cannot take chances on those people who wanted me dead." He picked up Hermione's bags and reached the front door.

Hermione simply followed him inside. The inside was rather simple. There were some plants on pots, landscape paintings on walls, and a plain yet vintage maroon wallpaper. Both of them took the flight of stairs to the fourth floor before Draco took a left turn down the corridor. He stopped at the end of the hall, opened the door with his keys, and allowed Hermione in first. He followed soon after.

His flat was bigger on the inside. Hermione remembered the Weasleys' tent back at the Quidditch World Cup. It was a small tent that seemed to be enough for only two people; but once you go in, it looked as if it were a portal to the inside of the house. There was a living room on the middle of the apartment, just down the porch of Draco's flat, with a large couch and a fireplace. On her right, there was the kitchen. Draco had a small dining table for four people near the kitchen. Then, Hermione saw four doors facing one another down the narrow hall. Hermione could not believe how mundane his flat was. The décor was minimal. He did not have artworks. The drapes were plain and sheer. The carpet that lay in the middle of the living room set was a vintage looking Persian rug. His kitchen were also neat and full. The flat was in its entirety tidy and simple.

"Make yourself comfortable, Granger," Draco said. He immediately went to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water—one for him, and one for his guest. "You'll be living here after all." He handed her the glass and finished his own with a few deep chugs.

"I think I'd take a rest now. Where should I sleep?" Hermione asked. Draco nodded and told her to follow him. He directed her to the guest room. Hermione came up from behind him, seeing the room where she was going to sleep, and thanked him. Draco informed her that he will be outside if she needed him; then he turned and left. Hermione was left in her room to settle. She sat on the soft cushion of her bed, sighing, before deciding to take as much rest as she needed.

She never would've thought that she'd ever need Draco Malfoy's help. His assistance. His protection. He wouldn't have been the first person she'd ask for help; but she knew that he was by far the best chance of her to stay alive. Whoever attacked her and Ron, whoever was responsible for her suffering, they were good enough to kill Ron. How much more were they good enough to kill Hermione as well?

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hello, guys! I've managed to post a new chapter regardless of how tedious and tight my schedule is of at the moment. I hope you enjoyed this one. I know that the story is slow, and believe me, it sucks; but I also want to develop my characters gradually. I want them to reflect, to learn, and grow. So please I only ask you to be patient with me and this story. Thank you! Your reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks for the support!_

 _Question: Who do you think killed Ron?_

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four:**

Draco leaned back on his black leather couch with another book plopped on his lap. He read quietly by the fireplace when he heard a door open. Hermione emerged from the hall, newly-showered and dressed in her pajamas, with her frizzy brown hair messily braided. However, Draco thought she looked decent enough.

She wondered around the kitchen as if she was looking for anything to eat. From Draco's peripheral vision, he watched her movements. He knew, and felt, that she was still uncomfortable around him but she was trying her best not to be. They were together for the next few weeks after all. They cannot afford to be awkward and off with each other. They needed to work together; and perhaps, Draco thought, that it was too early for trust but it was also too late for secrets.

"Good evening, Granger," Draco said without looking up from his book. He saw from the corner of his eyes that she jumped at his greeting. He didn't mean to startle her; but he did not apologize. Instead, he informed her, "I made a tuna sandwich earlier. I left the half for you over the counter if ever you're hungry. Make yourself at home."

She didn't answer. Hermione saw the half-sandwich left at the counter, just as he said. She took a seat in front of the countertop and started eating. She did not have so much appetite but her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten since they left St. Mungo's and that had been ten hours ago.

Later on, Draco turned his head back at her. He watched her take small bites on her sandwich and said, "Well, you can use pretty much everything in the house. I don't mind. Just don't go into my bedroom or the door next to it. The bathroom is next to yours. I have television if you'd like to watch some shows—" Hermione glanced and a saw the television sitting atop a wide shelf. She looked surprised that he was using muggle technology. But time has passed and things have changed. "—I also have a small library in here if you wanted to read. The kitchen and the food—you can do whatever you like with them. I have a house elf that comes in a few times to clean and shop…"

Hermione winced at the thought of the house-elf. Draco still had house-elves. But he went on, "And I know that your success in handling that house-elf law, you'd react to how I treat my house-elves. I pay them, I gave them clothes, if you must know. So don't be bothered. They stay with us for loyalty, I suppose. Not that I complain. Having them around is rather accomplishing," Draco blabbered. But Hermione thought that he did not blabber terribly; instead, everything he said made sense in her head, giving her relief. _His choice of words were even carefully well thought of_ , she noted in her mind.

"What happens tomorrow?" Hermione finally asked.

"What do you mean, _what happens tomorrow_?"

"I mean," Hermione trailed off. "You've got work. Harry might also need you in the field, if that is. He's your partner after all."

Draco sighed. He closed the book and placed it on the couch. "Well, since you're the Ministry's top priority, I suppose my work will also be postponed. Shacklebolt asked me to lay off my cases for the time being and focus on protecting you. You're not the only one who was asked to step down, Granger…"

"But, Harry—"

"—can ask Thomas to accompany him. Since Thomas was Weasel's partner, I suppose they can work together and bring in these psychos out of their holes," Draco interrupted. "If you really must work, you can work here. We can go to the Ministry tomorrow and gather whatever files you need to at least make some progress. It would best if you stay here rather than work in your office. The Minister does not trust anyone right now."

Neither did he. Nor did Hermione. They were both wary of who they could trust. The Minister were setting up limitations on who they can and cannot interact with. The Minister drew his suspicions; and the two of them best trusted the Minister to do his job as well. The situation was crucial, as the Minister said, and risking things was an unlikely option at the moment.

Someone wanted Hermione Granger dead. Someone _needed_ her to die. There was a fine line between wanting and needing; and needs were stronger than wants. Wants could be restrained from its attainment, yet if needs were unfulfilled then there occurs a dilemma that might either be progressive or destruction. And the Minister was not planning to find out.

"That would be nice," Hermione said. She nodded in silence as she finished her dish. "I think I should get back to my room."

She strolled her way down the hall. Her footsteps were light but it bore a thumping sound from her slippers. Then she heard Draco say after such deep and what seemed to be an endless silence, "I'm sorry about Weasley. He's a prat—but I'm sorry." Hermione stopped at his words. But she did not look back. She also ignored the fact that he still thought of Ron as a prat because at some point, she believed him too. Ron was unbearable sometimes. He made rash and immediate decisions without the deliberation of rationality; but Hermione did love him still. She appreciated his sympathy even if she wasn't sure if it was out of pure sincerity or simply because he felt obligated to say that.

"Thank you," she muttered before disappearing into her room.

* * *

Hermione Granger walked down the Ministry of Magic with Draco following from behind. They left his flat at nine in the morning via Floo network to the Ministry as they planned to pick up some documents from Hermione's office.

They took the elevator to the Level 2 where her office was located. None of them spoke to each other since last night except earlier when Draco asked if Hermione was ready to leave. Even at breakfast, they were both quiet over their meals. Hermione dressed up while Draco cleaned the dishes. It took more than two hours for Hermione to get ready. It was not that she had many rituals during her preparation; rather she found it hard to cope with her anxiety before they left. When she walked out of her room, Draco was well-dressed in his robes and was already waiting for her. He did not make any remarks as to the delay but went on to the fireplace.

Hermione had no reason to fret. She had spent a great deal of time last night trying to convince herself that there was indeed no reason to be nervous. She did nothing wrong. She was also a victim in this situation. But all her arguments seemed to have crumbled as soon as they entered the Wizengamot Department, and heads turned at their arrival. Hermione never liked the attention. In fact, she despised being looked at for there was nothing to look at. She was still Hermione Granger—and defeating Voldemort did not only gain her fame, it also took her innocence by means of facing war at an early age.

At twenty-four, Hermione felt deep in herself that she was a lost child. There were not enough persuasion that would make her calm down as she entered the department even with Draco behind her. But she tilted her head up with such confidence (even if it was what she generally lacked) and went to her office. Every time her heel touched the ground, it made a sound loud enough for everyone to look and it gave Hermione the sense of authority.

When she reached her office, Hermione asked Draco to stay outside for a while. She went in, shut the door, and leaned against it. She suddenly felt solitude wrapping her up. Having to live with Draco, having to be around him, it suffocated her even if they did not particularly talk about anything personal. She wanted to be alone; but so long the monsters that attacked her and Ron were out in the open, nobody risked that she become alone. Hermione sighed and went around her desk to start piling up important documents necessary for her work.

She sorted them into a small office box and closed the lid. Before leaving, Hermione took one last look in her office. Every day, this had been her sanctuary. Her safe haven. This was the place that she mostly felt safe, safe and alone in her thoughts. She went to the office as early as she could, not even waiting on Ron, and she stayed here until late in the evening so she could delay or shorten the minutes that she'd have to fight with Ron again.

Hermione had a difficult relationship with Ron. They had been dating shortly after the war. Their romance blossomed as they both made out for their careers. Their relationship had been deteriorating for the last two years, but a decision made last year changed it. Ron proposed to her, thinking that they might have a chance for them to fix it if they were married, and told her that he wanted to keep fighting for her. Fighting with her. Hermione thought that it was rather romantic; but romance was not enough to save them both.

They were happy at first. It made a drastic, yet progressive change in their relationship. They became more responsible and future-oriented. They even bought a house, moved in, and planned the wedding. But then, of course, not everything stayed the same. Everything was bound to fall apart at some point.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts before she could venture more. She did not want to remember that much. If she could bury all the bad memories, she would've. It pained her. Like her chest was being sliced in half and her chest clutched in one hand. So to prevent from herself from thinking further, she lifted the box and walked out of her office.

Draco stood where she left him. His head slightly tilted back when he heard the door open, and Hermione slipped out. In her hand was a box filled with documents. Hermione nodded to him. Together, they started walking out of the department. However, before they could reach the exit, Lavender Brown came and blocked Hermione's way. Draco did not know where she came from, but he was sure though that she looked as if she was looking to pick a fight.

"So, the rumors are true. You're here," Lavender sneered. Hermione sighed as she held the box with both hands. Hermione did not hate Lavender; but Lavender was rather begging for Hermione to hate her. "How dare you show your face here after what you did to Ron?"

Hermione and Lavender both had history. A bad history. Their worst commonality was they both dated Ron Weasley. Lavender always made a fuss about Hermione when Ron broke up with her and chose Hermione. Lavender could never understand Ron's decision; but even the beginning of her relationship with Ron was a result of a love potion.

"I did nothing to Ron," Hermione said. Her voice cracked as she defended herself. "I was there too…"

"Yes! You killed him!" Lavender accused with a desperate cry.

"Lavender, I do not have the time to fight right now. So please, let me through," Hermione asked. She tried to walk past her but Lavender shoved her by the shoulder. Hermione stepped back, almost falling on her arse, but regained her balance as Draco guided her shoulders. "Lavender, please…"

Lavender cried, "No! You were there, yet you did not do anything! You let him die! Then you ran. You cowardly filthy _mudblood_! You could've saved him, defended him, or covered him; but no, because you are selfish—"

Words. Hermione heard gasps at Lavender's words. Hermione felt the rush of anxiety creep up again. _No, no, no, not here. Not in front of her_ , she begged herself to stop. She took air in her lungs deeply and her grip on the box tightened. "—you only think about yourself because you're a downright cunt. I even wonder why he chose you over me!" Lavender continued to ramble in her words that attracted the attention of everyone at the department but that did not stop her still.

Hermione wanted to slap her. She was about to respond when Draco stepped in to her surprise. He stepped forward and came eye to eye with Lavender. "I swear to the gods, Brown, the Minister will hear about this if you say one more distasteful word. And you're giving me a headache. So _please_ , step aside," Draco threatened. Hermione couldn't see his eyes as he stood in front of her but she imagined how he looked by the sound of his voice. He did not seem pleased. Even as he threatened Lavender, he still sounded as if he were careful in his words. _Gentle_ , Hermione thought.

Then Lavender stood in shock. Some employees at the department took a hold of Lavender's arm and pulled her aside, providing entry to Draco and Hermione. Draco allowed Hermione to walk ahead again, and as they both arrived at the lobby, Draco realized that Lavender's ramblings might have been useful as to avoiding the presence of the press. But it was too late. Hermione was hoarded by the press from different magazines and newspapers such as the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly.

"Can you please tell us what happened on August 13th?"

"How do you react to the accusations of you killing Ron Weasley?"

"Do you know who attacked you, Ms. Granger?"

"Is it true that you were about to break up with Ron Weasley prior to his death?"

"Ms. Granger! Ms. Granger! Ms. Granger!"

Hermione pushed her way through the crowd of reporters. She avoided looking at the cameras. She ignored the questions thrown at her. Her eyes stung, and one more minute, she would've lost her sanity. Behind her, Draco did his best to push away the hands, and the bodies, and the cameras that were all attacking Hermione. _This was part of the job_ , Draco thought. He needed to protect her from her attackers and also from the real world. As they got out of the crowd with such great effort, they immediately Flooed back to Draco's flat.

Bursting from green flames into her form, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace. Soon after, Draco followed. Draco dusted himself off as he stepped out as well. Draco remarked, "Well, that was rather entertaining." He looked around and saw that Hermione has already drifted off without a word to her room. He let out a sigh when he heard the door click shut, and he was left alone again.

Meanwhile, Hermione locked herself in the room. She leaned against the back of the door, shaking and slowly sliding down to the floor. Her hand reached to clutch her chest as it weighed down on her again. The grief she felt was unbearable. Her entire body shook as she sat on the cold floor in Draco's guest room. Her legs went frigid as she breathed hard. What was happening to her?

You cowardly filthy mudblood. _That's right_ , Hermione thought.

She remembered that night. They fought; and Hermione blamed herself. On Ron's last night, they fought. Ron's words echoed in her head as she sat there. " _I don't believe you anymore, Hermione! We aren't supposed to be like this!_ "

This was not what she had dreamed of her life with Ron. When they had started dating, Ron and Hermione talked for hours about their future. It was a promising start, Hermione remembered. But adulthood was more difficult that just planning. It involved decision making, both for small and big problems, and endless fights that seemed to be recycled every day and night, and family dinners, and expectations, and imperfections. Even if Hermione was the brightest witch of her age who seemed to know more about life than any other, she was still human. She still felt things and her insecurities swallowed her whole. Ron was sometimes immature as if he did not completely grasp the idea of maturity. If Hermione knew any better, Ron might've lost his manual to adulthood.

" _We're losing ourselves over this! How did we end up like this? I love you, Hermione. But I don't know if this is still the right thing… We've lost so much. We've suffered enough. One mistake and we're both deteriorating…_ "

" _How can you call that a mistake? I lost her too!_ "

Nevertheless, Hermione would've married him. She planned her whole life with him. Even if at some times being with him drove her crazy. Even if she was never sure if she loved him enough to marry him, she would've still married him. She loved him. She _loves_ him, and that was okay. Because Hermione knew that marriage should not require a degree of love for her to marry someone; so long she believed herself that she loved him. But it scared her because now, she couldn't believe herself anymore.

 _Help me_ , Hermione sobbed hysterically. _Help me please_.

* * *

Later that evening, Hermione finally came out of her room. Draco was preparing some dinner as she emerged out the hall with no slippers. He took a side glance at her and noticed that she wore a rather thin nightgown under her satin robes. "Care to join me for dinner, Granger?" Draco asked as he chopped the onion skillfully.

When Draco moved out of the Malfoy Manor, he taught himself how to cook. The first few times he cooked for Astoria were a mess; but he eventually perfected the art of cooking. He decided that he couldn't always rely on the availability of house-elves so he learned it. Even now that Astoria was gone, his skills were rather useful whenever he fancied a good meal. He need not rush to a restaurant for reservations, he could finally feed himself on his own.

Astoria, he remembered. He shook his head before his thoughts could venture father.

Draco assumed that at Hermione's departure earlier when they arrived home, she was distressed. He didn't believe that she was that rude to leave without saying a word. So he decided that it might be nice for him to cook her some pasta. He wondered at some point why he was even doing such lengths for her—they were not friends. But he settled on the conclusion that perhaps she was his guest and it wouldn't hurt if he fed her a fancy meal. There was nothing bad about sharing, after all.

 _But sharing with a mudblood?_ Draco thought. _Salazar Slytherin must be rolling in his grave right now_.

Not that Draco cared about the blood-purity propaganda, but he simply worried that he might show too much. His reservation must not break. He was doing this out of courtesy and politeness. That does not, however, prove enough that he was a bad person. Draco fought himself, and the world, that he was not a bad person; but he was neither good. He was rather neutral, stuck in the middle between good and bad. He didn't want to bad because being bad would bring his family more dishonor; but he also didn't want to be good because being good proved that people expected too much of him.

He did not like expectations.

Nobody spoke to each other again during meals. It wasn't too awkward for Draco. He was used to all the silence. He lived alone for almost a year now that eating in solitude and silence became a routine. Hermione however did not eat too much. She took a handful of pasta but she never took another. Draco did not press her to take more because he did not want her to think that he cared too much.

They were not friends. Not even close enough to be called acquaintances. If there was anything to label themselves with, Draco thought that they were still strangers. He didn't know Hermione well enough for him to place his judgment, and he didn't want to because he didn't want Hermione to pick on his life as well.

Draco cleaned the kitchen and dining table after meal. He watched Hermione make her way to his tiny library. Even as a child, Draco had always liked reading. Not because he wanted to seem smart—he was already smart—but because he loved how a simply story can transport him into another world inside his mind. He thought that his mind was a rather complex organ and most probably the biggest of all since its limits cannot be measured by its physical size but also of its depth and scope. Over summer breaks during his childhood, he would spend his days in the library. He would sleep there if he couldn't finish a book immediately. His mother, Narcissa, would bring him tea and biscuits so he wouldn't be hungry while he read. The Malfoy Manor library was vast—and that term couldn't even be enough to describe the books that filled their library. _A lifetime inside that place is not enough for one to read everything_ , Draco thought.

He took glimpses of Hermione as her hands wandered through the books that filled his shelf. More than half of his books were muggle literature. He spent a great deal of time and money collecting first and limited editions of Shakespeare, Dante, de Cervantes, Greek Tragedians, and many more. Astoria never appreciated his dedication for muggle literature but she tried her best to support him at his hobby.

Afterwards, Hermione asked Draco if he wouldn't mind her working by the fireplace. Draco told her to make herself at home. Hermione prepared for the legislation of her anti-discrimination bill. It was a good distraction for whatever that was happening. She needed to get mind off of the investigation. Meanwhile, Draco began scanning through the remainder of Hermione's documents in hopes of finding a clue as to who might be responsible for these attacks.

Draco reeled through his mind. He thought of who could've attacked them. The war had been over for most people; but for him, it was not even halfway through. Perhaps a new form of war had brewed in him, a war with his mind, and perhaps this was the same for Hermione. Perhaps she also battled her way through the terrible memories. Perhaps she was still being haunted for her muggleborn-status or her work in Wizengamot. It was likely that over the course of the years that Hermione had worked in Wizengamot and took part in the prosecution of several Death Eaters, Draco was beginning to think that she most likely have made some enemies.

They worked in silence. The fire trickled as they positioned themselves near the fireplace. It provided warmth amidst the cold evening. Hermione focused her eyes on the open documents in front of her while Draco schemed through the names and information as he flipped through the pages. They were a few feet away from each other, Draco noticed earlier. This was by far the nearest that they have stayed with each other for almost two hours and a half now. Draco always kept his distance from Hermione for two reasons: first, he valued personal space; and second, he assumed she did too.

"My mother seems interested in your case," Draco finally said. Hermione did not look at him. But he was certain that she heard him for her hand stopped writing. "She sends her sympathies. Don't take it the wrong way. She just likes to gossip…"

"Well, I appreciate it. Tell her thank you," Hermione said quietly. Her hand scribbled its way through the parchment, in attempts to ignore Draco.

"Have you told your parents?" Draco asked. He longed to ask that for a long time. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

Hermione stopped again. This time, her eyes closed and her head tilted sideways. She looked as if she hadn't expected him to ask. In fact, she rather looked as if she didn't want to be questioned regarding that. Finally, she sighed and looked at Draco straight, "I don't have parents."

What? Draco felt a throb in his head. In her background file, she had parents. She knew who her parents were. She even mentioned it when the Healer asked her back at the hospital.

"They were living in Australia, remember? Melbourne, to be specific. How can you—"

"Stop," Hermione's interruption was quick. Her voice, stern. She did not wait for Draco to finish. She looked down with a heavy heart. Draco felt it as much. He heard it in her breathing. He saw it in her movements. He felt it bounce off of her. "I don't even want to talk about that, _Malfoy_." The sound of his name, his last name, in her tongue dripped with poison and Draco tasted it. "In fact, I do not want to disclose any personal information toward you. We are not friends. We are simply in this situation because you are protecting me. But that does not mean that we can and will talk about things that are outside of work…" Draco watched as she packed her documents in a hurry and left with a simple 'excuse me'.

 _Good job, Draco_ , he thought. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and sighed.

* * *

 _Author's Note: New chapter. It's finals, so I'm incredibly busy. But whatever. I appreciate your reviews of the previous chapter. Thank you so much. Although, more revelations coming up. Hope you enjoyed this one. Thank you again!_

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five:**

It has almost been a week since Hermione Granger awoke in her hospital bed, and Draco wanted to finish this investigation as soon as possible; however, Harry Potter remarked them on his first visit a few days ago that the investigation has gone colder. The evidences lacked—proving that the suspects were careful and deliberate in executing their attack—and the information gathered from the paperworks from both Weasley and Hermione could not provide a stronger lead.

Draco stayed mostly indoors with Hermione. He asked his house-elf, Potty, to pick him up groceries that will last for a few weeks ahead. He couldn't leave Hermione on her own. Indeed, the building, and his flat, were heavily warded; but as they have established before, the suspects' movements were measured, timed, and perfectly planned. The attack was not an opportunity; it would've been formulated for months. So, Draco spent his time between his own investigations and leisure. He took this leave as a form of vacation except he's main goal was to protect Hermione.

Two nights ago, Hermione woke up screaming in her room at around two in the morning which sent Draco in a hurry to check on her. He found her sitting on the bed with her knees to her chest, sobbing hysterically, but her posture straightened as he entered. He noticed that how her chest heaved but her teeth clenched as if controlling herself from breaking. He knew because he did that himself. Even if he already knew that what she would say, he still asked her if she was alright. Unsurprisingly, her answer was as expected. She nodded to him, turning her head away as if she could hide from his eyes, but he had already seen so much that there was nothing to hide anymore.

On days, Hermione reviewed her cases; and if she wasn't, she had found her way through his small library and decided to read some muggle literature as past time. She'd also watch some television if she'd gone tired from reading. She did not ask Draco his perspective on muggle influence, which Draco thought would be awkward. He did insult her before for being a _mudblood_. As the She-Weasel put it, he _rubbed_ it in her face. Draco also learned how Hermione takes her tea—with milk and honey—which sometimes he made for her when he thought of it.

They never talk on such lengths. The extent of their conversation was small talk; and bloody hell, Draco dreaded small talk. But he could not ask her anything personal. The last time he tried, she walked out on him. He watched her stride from the living room to her room with such weight on each footstep. Her rush to leave was so obvious that even her breathing, Draco felt. He did not even realize that her parents were rather a sore subject, and since he does not know any other subjects that were painfully sore to her, he did not press.

Draco looked over to Hermione. She sat on one of his plush cushions near the fireplace, her legs folded to her chest, while she read through Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. _It was her fifth book_ , Draco thought. He did not mind her raiding his library. In fact, he thought it was wonderful that he was not the only one fascinated by books. She flipped a page, totally engrossed in the contents.

Not long, the doorbell rang. Both of them snapped their heads to the front door. Hermione stood to her feet, ready to run if she needed to. Draco found her hands searching for her wand, but only grasped nothing but air. Draco stepped from his kitchen and told Hermione, "Hold your horses, Granger. You're safe." He wondered if his words were even satisfying enough to calm her down. But one last look behind, she remained at her post. Perhaps he was wrong. He reached the front door and looked through the peephole.

Without a second thought, he opened the door with Harry Potter standing outside. The only registered visitors to his flat were Hermione, Potter, and his mother. None of his friends were invited over; Draco needed privacy, and a place where no one would bother him. Even his Floo was blocked most of the time. He cannot have people coming in and out of his flat whenever they like. Knowing his friends, they would. In Potter's previous visitation, Draco informed him that he could visit Hermione anytime he pleased. _It might just set Granger sane for a couple more weeks_ , Draco thought, _if she saw a more familiar face_. Potter wore a soaked trench coat with a briefcase on his right hand. Draco wondered where Potter came from that he was soaking wet.

"Was it raining at the Ministry, Potter?" Draco greeted him, smugly.

Potter snickered and walked in. He set his briefcase on the side before hanging his dripping trench coat to the door. Draco decided to prepare some tea for Hermione and Potter; so he went back to the kitchen. As he reached the kitchen, he watched Potter approach Hermione and the two shared an embrace. They talked quietly, not loud enough for Draco to hear them from afar, but he watched their movements. Hermione nodded to Potter, with a slight nod, before pressing a smile. Draco thought that it was perhaps a reassurance that she was alright.

After preparing tea, he saw Hermione and Potter talking. They sat on the couch, and there was a gap in between them. Draco assumed that it was perhaps filled with Weaselbee. He had no idea what they were talking about. They were quiet, their words kept to themselves. He did not want to pry; but he felt as if he was a ghost in own flat. He could not help but notice that Hermione kept looking at his way a few times in the last five minutes; and so he thought that she might not be yet comfortable with him around. He was not comfortable around her still. But Draco was handling it better. He maintained the gap between them empty, unfilled, and open; he did not look forward to being close to her. However, by the passing days, he was growing used to having Hermione around.

In his waking moments, he thought of Hermione. He thought of her being in his house. _Her safety was the most important thing_ , Draco thought. He needed to assure himself that she was still in her deep slumber in the next room. He was used to seeing her sitting in the living room with a book open in her lap and her eyes prying on each page. He was used to her making a cup of tea. He was even used to making _them_ two cups of tea. He was used to sometimes sharing the television with Hermione. He was used to sharing meals in silence. He was used to a lot of things that he never thought he'd ever get used to before. This does not, however, mean that he suddenly grew concern for Hermione. He was still detached; he only bothered to get used to his arrangement because if he lost her, it would be his head on a pike.

 _Still apathetic_ , Draco thought convincingly. _Just looking out for my own head_.

"Potter," Draco called, all of the sudden. Potter whirled his head at the sound of his name with Hermione following. "I'll go out for a while. Have some few errands to run. I won't be long." He did not wait for Potter to say anything. He walked right out of the door without looking back, and soon, out of the building.

* * *

It was nice of Harry to visit. This was his second visit, and he was the only one who really did visit her. The Minister was an exemption; Hermione knew that he was obligated to visit because she worked under the Ministry of Magic. But Harry—he was Hermione's best friend. The Weasleys still have not reached out to her; but she did her best to understand. She fought herself to not think about the attack; but everything that was happening to her right now was a result of that attack.

Her days were spent on books, paperworks, and the television. She did her best to _not_ be still. She knew deeply she needed to be restless. Hermione needed to be occupied; so her head was always buried on a book. The television allowed her to pass the time, but eventually, she got tired of it. Her nights were spent alone in her room, tossing on a large bed as she forced herself to sleep, but her sleep was always interrupted by nightmares. She was close to losing her grip on reality. Two nights ago, Draco found her crying after a nightmare. If she could keep herself from remembering, she would've; but there was no amount of Draught of Peace that could calm her down.

"Is Malfoy treated you alright?" Harry asked. Surprisingly, Hermione realized that Draco had done nothing but treat her right. Even better than she would've expected from him. She'd gotten used to being called the "mudblood"; but not once in the last week that Draco referred her as such. Perhaps he grew up and set aside all the indifferences between purebloods and mudbloods. _He did own muggle technology_ , Hermione thought. Or perhaps this was because his job description was to protect her at all costs. She could only sigh. Hermione knew that her relationship with Draco was impossible. They were still not friends—or at least, they have not talked about that. She remembered the night he asked her of her parents. No one brought her parents up until that day at St. Mungo's when the Healer asked for it. Everyone knew that she preferred not to talk about it. It even rarely surfaces on her arguments with Ron. But perhaps she was wrong. Not everyone knew. _Draco did not_ , she noted to herself.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. She presented a small smile—a reassurance—that he had nothing to worry about. She sat on the other end of the couch with Harry on the other. She propped her legs close to her, giving her a sense of security even for only herself. It was one of the little things she learned to do in the last few days. She learned that she still had to look after herself. "We're acquainted," she said. Her choice of words was surprising, even for her, because none of them really spoke of it.

Harry nodded.

"How are they?" Hermione asked. She dreaded to ask about them, but she knew that it would always come up somehow. She could not even mention their name. _Weasley_. That name spread over her mouth like a sweet candy that unexpectedly turned bitter. Each letter burned on her tongue before she could say it. She tasted it, and her chest tightened. "Tell me the truth, Harry," she requested him before he could say something.

"You shouldn't worry," Harry assured. Even he sounded uncertain.

"But I do, Harry. They're my family too," Hermione said. After she obliviated her parents, the Weasleys took her in without a second thought. They were the only family she had left. Now that Ron's gone, she feared that she lost them too.

"I know. They're alright, Hermione. They will be," he assured her again. Hermione breathed. His words were not convincing enough. Her heart did not rest in peace; instead, it shattered. Harry was protecting Hermione from the truth, and she knew it. _He's lying_ , Hermione thought. It might not be a complete lie but she knew enough. She watched him—his face, his hands, his shoulders, his movements, and even his breathing. But everything in him seemed tense.

Hermione's breath hitched. "Are they mad?" She finally asked. Harry looked up to her in surprise. How could she think that, Hermione thought, but that question had been going on and on inside her head for the last few days. "Do they blame me?"

"Merlin, no. Of course not," Harry said. He moved closer to Hermione but with Hermione's reflexes, she tightened her arms around her legs. She stiffed as he moved forward. Not that she didn't want him close, but with recent events, it heightened Hermione's reflexes to defend herself. Her movements were always careful and measured especially around Draco. Perhaps Harry might have realized that he became too close when he moved back, sighing, "They're not mad. They're coping."

Hermione wondered. How were they coping? How was Molly talking it? Arthur? The other Weasley children? She thought about Ginny. She thought about them, coping in their own personal ways. Molly Weasley locked herself in the bedroom for months after Fred died. It took too much effort for Arthur to finally get her out for once. Even Arthur, who did his best to be strong for the family, cracked when he was alone. Hermione wasn't blind; even if no one told her, she saw the grief in their eyes. She felt it, even. She did her best to be there—but now, she wasn't sure if they would still accept her as family.

She pushed the thoughts away. Her head tilted to the side. Her eyes averted from Harry's, avoiding them, in hopes that he wouldn't see how much it still affected her. Then, she asked quietly, not turning back, "How's the investigation? Is there any lead?"

Harry sighed in defeat. He shook his head, and said, "It's still cold. But that is actually why I decided to stop by. I'd like you to take a look at the crime scene. You might be able to point out some significant clues that we haven't seen before."

Hermione didn't look at him. How could he ask her this? She felt her chest burn at his words. She never thought that he would ask her to go back there. Her nightmares were images of the wreckage, Ron's face, and all the blood that had been spilled; how could she even go back to that? Her arms shuddered at the thought.

Harry continued, "I know that I am asking a lot… But I—"

"I'll think about it, okay?" Hermione said. Her tone was firm. She didn't need him to justify. She tried her best to understand. She had to keep it together. She cannot break right now. She held it in, in her breaths, and inside her ribcage. It took so much energy to hold it in. To trap those feelings for a little while longer. Perhaps she could imprison her demons for a little while.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I wouldn't ask you this if I didn't have any choice," Harry said.

"It's fine, Harry. I know."

Silence filled the air as she looked all over the place except Harry's eyes. He would know. But she didn't want him to know.

Hermione clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms. Her thighs went frigid as if the blood ceased to flow. "I'm actually not feeling so well. I think I might go rest for now. You don't have to stay. The flat is heavily warded," Hermione said. _Get out_ , her mind screamed.

 _Please, just get out. Leave me._

She watched as he nodded. Immediately, he stood. He didn't move an inch closer to Hermione. He did not touch her. He did not kiss her forehead. Then without a word, he left. The air that was once filled with his perfume seemed heavy in her lungs. She inhaled. She exhaled. Each rise and fall of her chest, she heard a bone cracking inside her.

Hermione didn't know how she managed it; but she reached the shower. Her clothes were stripped. Her body standing as water cascading through her edges. Her curls soaked in hot water. Her legs shook. Her arms clipped to her sides. Slowly, she didn't realize that she had fallen. She didn't slip. Instead, her knees buckled, sending her to crumple like a piece of paper on the cold floor. How did it come to this? She wanted to cry; but there were no tears.

She let out a whimper; then a sob; then a cry; and everything fell.

* * *

When Draco returned, the living room was unoccupied. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He shut the door behind him as he entered; but his eyes shifted all over the place. The fire that burned in the fireplace trickled. It was the only sound that welcomed him. The place was the same as he left it earlier except there were no occupants.

"Granger?" He called out softly. Draco strode down the living room. The tea that he had prepared was left untouched, and had gone cold. He decided to check the bedroom. The closer he got to the guest room, he heard the water running. But no movements. The guest room was dimly lit, the bed was made, and Hermione's bag rested on the desk near the closet. The sound of the water running became louder as he went in, and quietly, he heard a soft whimper from inside the bathroom.

He followed the sound. Pushing the bathroom door lightly with his right hand, the door creaked but not loud enough to be noticed. He saw Hermione curled up inside the shower room, naked, and shaking. _Fuck_ , he cursed under his breath the moment he saw her. Draco gathered a towel from the closet, turning off the shower, and covering Hermione. Her wet hair covered her face, but in between the strands, he saw her eyes. Unfocused, looking all over the place. So gently, he took Hermione into his arms. He felt her snuggle to his chest as she let out a loud sob and her entire body shaking as she did.

He didn't know what to do.

"Granger," Draco called her. She did not reply. She couldn't. "Hermione, what happened?" The taste of her name in his lips was strange; but oddly familiar.

"Please, Draco…"

"What?" Draco asked. He sounded sincere. Maybe he was. "What do you need?"

"Don't go." Two words, and Draco's chest burned. Why him? Why, of all people, does it have to be him? Why can't it be Potter? He was here, wasn't he? Why couldn't Potter be here? Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit. His mind was racing. He cursed himself internally. But, he had no other choice. She needed him.

Draco placed her on the bed. He fixed the towel that covered her before looking for clothes. He gathered a set of clothes, placing it on her bed, before saying, "I'll just make you some tea. You get dressed, okay?" He watched her for a minute before turning; but her hand reached for his arm and he stopped.

"Don't leave," Hermione hiccupped. Her voice sounded weak, as if there were fish bones lodged in her throat.

He made the same tea that she liked. With milk and honey. He stirred the tea in its cup, and his mind wandered. He thought about Hermione. Not that he cared. He was simply… curious. He wondered if she had frequent panic attacks like this. He wondered what Potter said to her. He wondered what Potter did to her. He wondered a lot of things; and it was too late before he realized that he cared too much.

Not long, he heard the door open. It revealed a dressed Hermione. Even in clothes, her arms seemed trying to cover her more from his eyes. She was not unpleasant to look at. She was rather thin. Her hair was pushed back with a pin. Her bloodshot eyes avoided his. Draco still saw how her fingers trembled, even in the slightest. He wondered if Weasley even took care of her. The lines of her ribcage appeared under her chest, Draco remembered. _No_ , he scolded himself, _stop caring_.

"Tea, Granger?" Draco offered her. She nodded, and in her hand, she took the cup before slowly making her way near the fireplace. Hermione turned her back on him. She watched the fire. "How are you feeling?" He asked as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

Draco waited for a few minutes for an answer. But he received nothing but silence.

"Do you think I did it?" Hermione asked. Draco thought about what she was talking about. Then it hit him. The question floated into thin air that Draco couldn't follow what made her think that. Was it Potter? Did he blame her? Did the Weasleys blame her? Draco wondered if it has been plaguing her for the last week. Her head slightly turned back, perhaps to watch him as he formulated an answer. But likewise, he could not give her any. Draco did not know her well enough to tell her his judgment. _One week does not suffice to know a person_ , he thought. "You know, it's alright if you do. I don't even trust myself right now."

Draco let out a sigh.

Finally, she stood from her seat. She still held the cup of tea. Then she looked Draco straight in the eye, and said, "I want to see the crime scene."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. Sorry about that. First, I'm gonna clarify regarding one of the reviews for this story. I agree that Legilimency will make it easier to determine what exactly happened. But in my defense, I believe that using Legilimency on Hermione would be invasive. Now that Hermione's terrified and traumatized, she doesn't trust anyone at the moment. She's guarded. Plus, it's her mind. She gets to decide who she'll let in inside. Another reason is that even if this attack did not happen, Hermione's character here values privacy. She's not just about to let someone pick her brain without thinking about it thoroughly. And Harry knows that._

 _Just as I requested from everyone, please, please, please, be patient with me. Revelations will unfold at the right time. No need to rush. If you get bored, then you don't have to finish this story. But I do appreciate your comments. Really. It means a lot. Thank you so much for all the support. I apologize for the typo-grammatical errors._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	7. Chapter Six

Year 2004. August 18th.

Hermione apparated next to Draco in front of what once was her house. _Their_ house. It was still their house; but just looking at it on the outside, her heart raged. She shared it with Ron, along with the promises of building their family here. She did not know what possessed her to agree with Harry and survey the crime scene. At first, she was reluctant to do anything. She even tried her best to forget. But how could she ever forget?

Forgetting, Hermione realized, was easier when obliviated. She wished someone would just obliviate her; and everything would just go back to normal. What was normal anyway? Being a muggleborn, she knew what normal is. In her childhood, she fought herself to be anything other than normal. She didn't want to be normal. But now, it was all what she wanted. Her mind reeled through the memories that happened in that house.

Even if she wanted it enough, she knew in herself that it wouldn't change a thing. Ron would still be dead. The Weasleys would still be in grief. Her attackers would remain on the loose. The world was still a terrible place.

Draco looked at her, "Ready when you are, Granger," he said. Hermione took a deep breath. A few steps ahead of them, Harry stood with two other Aurors. Harry engaged in a serious conversation with his two companions, still unaware of their arrival, until Harry glimpsed to his side. His eye caught Hermione, and her breath hitched.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry greeted as he came. Hermione nodded. Then Harry turned to Draco, who he gave a small nudge. "Malfoy, thanks for taking her here." Hermione did not see Draco's reaction but she heard a soft snort from him. She did not know what that meant; perhaps he was just being smug again. "Hermione," Harry called, "thanks for… uh, doing this." Hermione heard his voice falter as if he couldn't find the right words to say.

Together, they walked to the front of the family home. It was a two-storey building with a small balcony on the top floor for the master's bedroom. The front lawn hasn't been mowed yet; and Hermione remembered that it was last week's time to mow again. Ron always mowed the lawn, Hermione remembered. Ron thought that using a mower was mad, but somehow, Hermione had convinced him that it was more convenient. Before she could venture far ahead, Hermione ignored her thoughts.

Draco stepped in first. He surveyed the living room, which was a wreck, before he allowed Hermione to enter. Once she walked in, the atmosphere around her changed. Her arms felt the heavy air that surrounded them. She saw almost everything in the living room had either been overturned or destroyed. The drapes had been torn. The couch had been soaked with blood. The kitchen door was removed from its hinges. There were shattered pieces of a broken vase scattered all over the ground.

"Granger," Draco called. "Panic attack?" The words came in a whisper. Hermione asked him a few days ago to keep quiet about it. She did not want Harry, or anyone else, to know. She was ashamed; she did not anyone to know that underneath all her armor was a frail child that cracks at the smallest detail. So, when Draco asked, Hermione only shook her head.

She was fine. She needed to be fine. _I will be_ , Hermione assured herself. She couldn't break now. Not in front of Harry. She begged herself to keep it together.

Hermione took a round the living room. Behind her, Draco followed. His eyes also ventured to the place, perhaps he could lend a new pair of good eyes to look around the place. Hermione arrived at the stairs. But her last step seemed hesitant when the flashes came again. She winced as her head throbbed in pain—bombarding her with memories. Her memories fought their way into remembering, fitting with her nightmares, and Hermione did not know what to believe anymore. She stepped back with a hand to her temple. Her back bumped into Draco with his hands immediately grazing upon her arms to catch her.

But the memories did not stop.

"Granger," Draco called her again. "Hermione…"

"What's wrong with her, Malfoy?" Harry's voice. Hermione kept her eyes shut. Flashes of that night—Ron falling down with knives to his chest, beams of green and red light coming from different wands, the blood, her running. _Stop_ , her chest heaved. _Stop, please_. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head. She waved a hand, and said, "I'm fine."

She heard Draco sigh. Of course, he did not believe her. Living with him for almost two weeks now, he had gotten better at reading her. She did not want herself to crack open in his presence; but these damn panic attacks always occurs at the worse time possible. Her nightmares also became more frequent. She'd wake up screaming. Draco would prepare her tea to calm her down; and with her request, he'd wait 'til she had fallen asleep again.

"Sit, Granger," Draco told her. So she did. She sat on the pile of wood and laid her back on the wall behind her.

"Does she always have this?" Harry asked. _No, Draco, please lie_ , Hermione thought.

"She's fine, Potter. No need to worry…"

"Malfoy—"

"Potter," Draco snapped. She heard his tone was stern. Her eyes remained closed; and slowly, flashes of that night almost ended. Her breathing normalized. "Leave her alone. For now."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes. She saw the place again. In front of her, Draco stood. Harry walked away to investigate. Then her eyes fixed on Draco's. He looked down at her. Her mouth opened to whisper, "Thank you." What Draco only did was nod.

Ten minutes later, Draco decided to look further. Hermione watched as he strode to the dining room. He pushed away the wreckage. He surveyed through walls. But he then walked out of the dining room unsuccessful. Later, he picked up a photo frame that had been buried until the pile; so he walked over to Hermione. In his hand, he held the moving photo of her and Ron in their engagement party.

Hermione remembered that day. She wore a purple dress that reached her knees. Her heels killed her that night. Ginny had managed to pin her bushy hair into a nice clip; and how, Hermione would never know. She was happy that day. Not her happiest; but happy enough. Everyone congratulated them. They danced a couple of songs until she decided that she hated heels. She even remembered that Draco was there.

"Thank you," Hermione said. Her voice croaked.

Then, she saw his eyes dart behind her. She followed what he was looking at. Then he reached down to touch the end of the torn wallpaper. "This has been placed again. This was torn before," Draco muttered.

"How'd you know?" Hermione frowned. She did not even notice it before.

"It was not placed back properly. The creases are visible," Draco assumed. Later, Harry and the two Aurors walked over to them, curious as to what Draco found. "Potter, did anyone touch this wallpaper? This particular wall during your first investigation?"

Harry shook his head.

"I asked my team to leave everything in its original place. Only to take pictures," Harry replied.

Draco turned back to the paper. Hermione stood from her seat and went next to Harry. Draco pulled the wallpaper off the wall in one swing. The large portion of the wallpaper came with Draco's hand, revealing a word scribbled in blood behind it, and Hermione gasped. Hermione threw a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.

YOU.

Harry placed a hand over Hermione's shoulders. But her shoulders stiffened as he touched her. He immediately removed his hand before Hermione retreated. She ran outside the house. As fast as she ran when she came to Diagon Alley. She picked up her feet. Memories of her running bare feet and in her nightgown resurfaced. But this time, she cried. Tears slid to her cheeks, down to her neck, and she wasn't scared of whimpering anymore.

Before she could go far, she felt a hand pull her back from running. Hermione immediately turned to face Draco Malfoy, who immediately followed after she took off. She wasn't sure why he even bothered. She looked at him, her eyes watered and red, before she hid her face in her hands. She remained in between his hands. He held her for a moment, not an embrace but a reassuring touch; and for a moment, she felt… safe.

Once they came back, Harry asked Draco escort her home. Hermione shook. Her shoulders trembled; every fiber of her being trembled. She was agitated. She panted. She muffled sobs. She didn't know what to do. Then, Draco took her arm and disapparated with her.

* * *

Padma Patil walked by the corridor leading to her laboratory. In her hand, she scanned through the lab results of a DNA test for a recent case. Padma nearly reached the door when she found Harry Potter sweating in his seat. She could only guess what he needed from her. She was the head forensic researcher in the Ministry of Magic after all.

The Ministry of Magic took a delicate turn after the war. Minister Shacklebolt decided that it was best and most convenient to mix muggle form of research to replace their ancient ones. Padma thought that it was surprising but agreed that it would be best. Not that she despised traditions, but she hated how it made her job difficult when it could've been solved easier through muggle research.

When she narrowed the gap between her and Harry, she remained standing without batting an eye at him. He raised his head and jumped up when he saw her. "Hey, Padma. How's it been?" He asked her out of courtesy.

She smiled, and said quietly, "Peachy. How's Ginny?"

"Fine," Harry said. He looked down at his shoes while his left foot started kicking the floor. Padma took this as a sign of uncertainty. She felt it in his movements. She was also not ignorant as to recent events in the last week. Lavender Brown was her flatmate after all. Lavender had a big mouth; she blabbered at everything.

"How is she?" Padma asked. This time, she did not refer to Ginny. She referred to Hermione Granger, who had recently been accused of murdering Ron Weasley. Padma did not think that she was even capable to hurting anyone without remorse, but Ron Weasley? That was beyond her nature.

Harry sighed. It was not of relief, but of defeat. He pursed his lips before saying, "Honestly? She isn't any better. She's hanging by a thread, so to speak." Padma hadn't realize that he would tell her the truth; but she didn't mind. If anything, she was thankful that he was honest.

"You tell her that she doesn't have to worry. She has at least one person who believes her," Padma smiled. Harry nodded in response. Then she asked, "So, what have you got?"

He pulled out a small bag from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it and examined the content before raising an eyebrow at Harry, "Is this from the crime scene?" She watched him nod again.

"We think its Ron's," Harry said. Padma's breath hitched. Lavender cried for a few days after the death of her beloved Ron Weasley. Of course, Padma knew that what Lavender felt was merely an obsession for her long lost love. "We're not sure; but we're fairly certain," Harry added.

"Where exactly did you find it?" Padma inquired. "I need to know if it's contaminated." Harry nodded in complete understanding.

Then he said, "It was written on the wall of Hermione's living room. The word was 'you'." Nodding, Padma invited him to follow her inside the laboratory.

Harry watched as she said the password to the laboratory door. It swung open, revealing a room filled with wizard and muggle researchers. He had only been in here once when he was following a trail of Death Eaters back when he first got his job as an Auror. He had managed to take an evidence and was asked to not leave the evidence at all costs. So he stayed. Then the trail of their Death Eater investigation had gone cold that Harry was forced to set it aside and examine other cases.

The laboratory was neither quiet nor loud. There were chatter, Mandrake roots crying, and machines wiring. Harry was fascinated at first that Minister Shacklebolt had managed to combine both wizard and muggle relations in most things. That had been the Minister's goal after the war, and in his words, Harry remembered that the Minister said, "It would heal the conflict between the magic and non-magic folks. No more discrimination." Of course, it worked—for some parts. However, there were still others who resisted and remained against the non-magic folk as if touching or talking to them would spread some deadly virus.

Harry followed Padma to her work area. She placed the sample of the blood from the wall that Malfoy found in their venture at the crime scene. Harry watched her work without question. He did not even understand what she was doing. Rather distracted by the noise behind him, Padma continued working on the blood sample. Later, Harry saw Padma pull out her wand and muttered a spell he hadn't heard of before; and after a while, the blood sample turned blue.

"You're right," Padma said without blinking. "It's Ron's blood, alright." Harry felt his insides burn. He wanted to pummel something; but at the same time, he wanted to vomit. He expected as much that it was right. However, perhaps deep down, he wished it wasn't Ron's. "It was fresh; as far as I can tell. Maybe taken about four to five days ago," Padma continued as she noted her findings.

Harry's head was spinning. Four to five days ago? Ron's body had been locked down at the forensic lab for more than a week now. The Minister issued that Ron's body to be examined before it were to be delivered back at the Weasleys for his burial. Molly lashed out at the Minister's office when the Minister wouldn't simply let go of Ron's body; but he managed to calm her down and persuade her that it would be helpful if they could trace the spells his body received to the attackers. So far, there weren't progress. But Harry was still lost. He frowned, "What do you mean? Ron's body is down for autopsy. Is he not?"

Padma sighed, "I know, Harry. But trust me, my employees are trustworthy. None of them would collect Ron's blood and use it for painting. That's just insane."

"You wouldn't know, Padma. You know that you're the only one who has access and permission to examine Ron's body. I trust that you didn't. So I ask you: who else do you think could've taken his blood?" Harry asked. His muscles were flexing under his skin.

"I have some people who look after his body whenever I'm gone," Padma admitted. "I won't be available twenty-four/seven to examine him. I need some people to continue my work; and trust me because I trust them, and I review their findings as soon as I get back." Harry paced. Not too slow, but not too fast to attract attention. "Look, Harry. My employees signed a confidentiality agreement. If they broke it, I could sue them for breach of contract. And you know that I would."

Harry sighed. He knew… He understood. But he couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. His head was spinning faster. The lead was fading and disappearing before he could even find the pattern. How was he gonna be able to solve this?

Leaning over the counter, Harry whispered, "Padma, you know your employees better. If you can find out anything about how this happened, please tell me. I'd hate to put you in a dangerous place, but I… I'm lost here. And please be careful. There's no one I would trust right now."

Padma looked up at Harry in the eyes and nodded.

"I better tell the Minister about this. Maybe he can shed some light on the issue," Harry said. "Don't… tell anyone about this yet."

"Of course, Harry," Padma assured him. She watched him turn him heel and leave. Then she pulled out another sample from a drawer in front of her. It was labeled as Hermione's.

* * *

The Minister took his tea cold. He didn't like it too hot because it burned his tongue and throat. So he prepared to wait for his tea to get cold after it's served. While he waited for his tea to chill, he heard a soft knock on his office door.

"Come in," he ordered. The door cracked open, revealing Harry Potter in his most stressful look. "Oh, Harry. Come in, come in. What brings you here?"

Harry came in. He shut the door quietly behind him before striding toward the desk. Before he could say anything, the Minister asked, "Would you like some tea?" The Minister didn't wait for an answer and called for his secretary, requesting for another cup of tea. A while later, the secretary came in with a warm cup of tea for Harry. Once they were left alone again, the Minister finally registered that Harry's visit was of importance and repeated his question, "So, what brings you here?"

Harry breathed in. And out. And in. How would he begin? He was slipping in his investigation. He hated that he wasn't getting anywhere close to solving this. The more that the suspects were out there, the more danger Hermione could be in. Not only Hermione, but the Weasleys too.

Harry began, "You remember that Hermione agreed to look at the crime scene again?"

"Oh, yes. Indeed. I remember," the Minister said. "How did it go?"

"We found something."

"Harry, you're stalling," the Minister confessed. But he waved his hand. He finally took a sip in his cold tea before nodding to Harry. "Continue, then."

"Malfoy found a part of the wallpaper in the living room that had been torn before and glued back again. There are visible creases that meant it was carelessly placed back in. Or it was intended to be careless for us to find the message," Harry explained.

"What message?"

"It was a word written in blood."

"What word?"

"You. Just 'you'," Harry looked down at his feet again. He remembered Hermione's reaction. He had expected her to cry, but when she ran, he almost took off after her. If only Malfoy hadn't followed her first, he would've. He didn't know what happened when they were outside for he gave orders to the other Aurors.

"Did you take a blood sample for forensic research?"

"I did," Harry nodded. "I just came from the lab. Padma Patil confirmed that it was Ron's blood. According to her, it had been taken about four or five days ago."

The Minister finally frowned. Harry knew that he thought of the same thing. "Isn't Mr. Weasley's body safely at the forensics lab?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. "That's what I told Padma. Do you think there's someone on the inside that might be responsible for all this?"

The Minister went silent. He didn't finish his tea. He didn't know if he could still finish his tea after what Harry had said. The Minister had his share of dead bodies to last a lifetime. He had hoped that he wouldn't be dealing with another; but it turned out, he was deep into this investigation after all.

"That's a likely possibility. However, we must be careful. We cannot just accuse anyone of doing such thing. That would be slanderous, and in turn, inflammatory," the Minister informed him.

"I know, Minister. That is why I seek your counsel regarding this matter," Harry said. Harry was lost; but so was the Minister. None of them knew what to do with this; now that there was a high probability of having a killer—or killers—inside the Ministry. "Could we add more security?"

"Where?" The Minister inquired.

"I don't know… At the forensics lab. To secure Ron's corpse and prevent this from happening again," Harry said.

"But that does not rule out the researchers. The killer might be inside the group of researchers," the Minister argued.

"I know," Harry sighed. What should he do? "I don't know what to do anymore. This investigation has gone bloody cold. There are no leads, no evidences, and no fucking suspects—"

The Minister raised his hand to warn Harry. Harry didn't realize that his voice rose and his choice of words had turned from formality to profanity. Frustration caught up with him quickly. He had been repressing his anger for quite a time now so he would stay positive and objective in his investigation. This event, however, triggered him to a breaking point.

"I apologize," Harry said. "I did not mean to say all that…"

"It's fine. I understand how distressed you must be," the Minister said. "Why don't you allow me to talk to Miss Patil regarding this matter? I'm sure we'll come up with an agreement. You should go home and probably rest."

Harry nodded.

"Should I tell Hermione about this?" Harry asked. He knew he should; but if he did, she would break again.

The Minister raised his eyes. His eyes were sad and in despair. But he remained his posture. So he shook his head and said, "It would be best if you did not. You could tell her that you have progress, but do not tell her anything specific. It might only frustrate her more; as much as you are." Harry knew that the Minister did not mean to hide anything from Hermione; rather he was only as protective of her as Harry.

"Of course," Harry said. He sighed and adjusted his stance. "Well, I better be off. Thank you for the help, Minister. Good day." Without another glance, Harry left the office with a deep breath.

* * *

Draco Malfoy flipped through the next page of the Daily Prophet. He wasn't exactly sure as to why he even bothered to read the newspaper since it wasn't exactly a credible source for news. Maybe he had hoped that there was news about the case; but so far, all he read were speculations. He hadn't read anything he didn't already know. In fact, he knew better.

From the corner of his eye, the door to Hermione's room remained closed. When he took her home after their visit at the crime scene, she hasn't said anything. Not even a single word. He did not need to ask. He already knew that she was far from fine. Even she knew that he knew. None of them had to say anything more than what their eyes conveyed. The sadness in Hermione's eyes was enough to say something; and Draco's silence was enough to tell her he understood.

 _Rita Skeeter made a fool out of herself with all these speculations. None of it were even close to facts_ , Draco thought as he perused through the pages. He would've have allowed Skeeter to interview him just to clear everything up; but that would defeat the purpose of protecting Hermione. If he gave away a piece of information from the investigation, there was a high probability that Hermione's attackers would know. Plus, why would he even do something as that? That would be madness. He wasn't someone who would take lengths for someone he barely cared about—especially _her_.

But did he really not care for her?

 _Sod it_ , Draco thought. _I don't care…_

Even in his thoughts, he couldn't convince himself. Words tasted like rotten fruit; an old soliloquy to make himself believe that it were true. What is wrong with him?

His inner thoughts shattered at the loud rapping at the front door. So Draco dropped the papers on the coffee table before taking a stride to open it. Of course, as he had expected, he saw Harry Potter standing outside. This time, Potter looked as if he had seen a ghost. He was paler than he usually was, even paler than Draco himself, which Draco thought was rather odd. But he did not ask; instead, he invited him in.

"News, Potter?" Draco asked, shutting the door behind him.

Potter nodded. His eyes wandered all over the place. It was as if he couldn't focus on one thing; or he did not want to focus on one thing. Draco was lost at Potter's sudden arrival and unusual behavior.

"I'll call Granger," Draco informed. He walked to Hermione's bedroom, and as softly as he could, he knocked on her door. For a moment, he didn't hear anything other than light movements behind. "Granger? Potter's here. I think he might've some news," Draco explained. He saw Potter watching him, waiting for something to happen.

Draco heard her say, "I'll be out in a minute. Just… give me a minute."

He didn't ask what she was doing behind the door. He would rather not know. He did not care, right? But curiosity seemed to poke his arse to ask. He nearly bit his tongue off as he tried his best to keep his questions to himself. He did not fully understand what made him so curious about Hermione; perhaps it was because of her reservation. They were similar, Draco noticed; he kept things to himself just as she kept things to herself.

 _There was only a time when I stepped out of the line_ , Draco remembered. _She walked out on me_.

But why would he want to break her reservation if he did not want anyone to break his? He hated having to think this through.

It took five minutes before Hermione finally decided to come out. Her eyes were red and swollen revealing the fact that she had been crying the entire time. Even her nose was red as a tomato. Potter might not notice but Draco did as his eyes darted to her hands. They were balled into tight fists—perhaps the tightest she can do. He knew. She was stopping herself from exploding.

Hermione hiccupped, "Hello, Harry."

Potter nodded. He had his hands buried in his pockets. Draco expected him to close the gap between him and Hermione, but Potter remained at his post. He did not move. Neither did Hermione. Draco wondered what was going to happen now.

"I just came to tell you that we've confirmed that it was Ron's blood. But that's all I can tell you right now," Potter said. He bowed his head down. "Sorry, Hermione."

Draco only watched Hermione. Her shaking had gone from unnoticeable to terrible suppression. She could not contain it any longer. She was going to explode. He stepped forward, but his step was not fast enough to stop her from exploding. She erupted, "I deserve to know, Harry! Everything! I was there! I have every right to know… Why can't anybody just bloody tell me anything?"

Her words came out cracked. Like glass stuck in her throat.

Draco saw tears slid one at a time from the corner of her eyes. It soaked her once-dried face again, making her cheeks blotchier than it had been when she came out, and now, her entire body was shaking. Draco didn't take another step. She needed to do this on her own. She needed to face this.

Potter said, "Kingsley didn't want me to tell you. He doesn't want to scare you—"

"You don't think I'm not scared right now?" Hermione snapped. She threw her hands in the air, out of exasperation. "I'm terrified, Harry! I'm bloody shaking! I don't think I'll ever be more terrified than I am actually feeling right now!"

"I know, Hermione. But—"

"Just admit it, Harry!" Hermione wailed. Draco winced at the sound of her voice. She was in pain, he could tell. She was in so much pain. "Why don't you just admit it, huh?! Everybody thinks that I killed him! Why don't just spare me all the lies, Harry? I'm tired of all these…"

Potter took a step forward. But Draco gave him a stern look. Not because he felt protective of Hermione. Or maybe he was a little. _Bugger_ , Draco chided himself. But Draco knew that if Potter approached Hermione right now, it wouldn't end well. One of them might end up hurting one another. _Potter was a likely candidate_ , Draco thought.

"No, Hermione. No one thinks that," Potter said softly. "I don't. The Weasleys don't. Stop thinking like that. No one blames you, okay?"

Hermione stopped talking. She muffled a few sobs as she stood a few feet from Draco. Draco felt the need to console her; but he also knew that it was beyond his nature. He couldn't. He couldn't let his guard down. Not even if there's a crying girl in front of him.

"Look, Hermione. We love you, okay? The Weasleys do—I promise that. It'll just take time to adjust with everything. No one thinks that you could even harm Ron. Just trust us… Or better yet, trust me," Potter explained.

 _Nice speech_ , Draco thought. _How can she when you're only telling her half-truths?_

Hermione turned around. She hid her face in her hands while she continued to weep. Tears streamed down her cheeks like waterfalls. Almost unstoppable, along with the heavy beating of her chest.

Potter sighed and pressed a tight smile at Draco, before he said, "There's something I'd also like to tell you. The Weasleys prepared a small gathering at the Burrow on Thursday for Ron's funeral. I thought, you should come. Molly asked me to tell you." Potter paused, and continued, "I know that it's difficult. But please, Hermione, see us at the Burrow. It's at lunchtime. Everyone will be there."

Finally, Draco found his voice. He asked, "Why did it take the Weasleys a week to bury Ronald?" The Weasel's name burned at his tongue. It felt uncomfortable calling him as Ronald.

"His body had been kept at the Ministry's forensics lab for autopsy. Results should be available in two days," Potter explained.

Draco nodded. Then he turned right back at Hermione. Her shoulders had stopped from shaking. But her entire body remained frigid. He looked at Potter, and said, "It's probably best if you let her be for now. She needs to think this through. We'll send you an owl for confirmation." Potter agreed with it and left after a few goodbyes, here and there. The door shut behind him, and Draco was left with Hermione in the living room.

"Granger?" Draco called. She stiffened. "It's alright. He's gone. You can sleep now. I'll just knock when it's time for dinner."

Hermione didn't say anything. She retreated back to her room as soon as she could. Her feet almost got caught with her steps as she hurried; but somehow with a force that kept her slightly sane, she managed to not fall to her feet when she left.

Draco let out a sigh as he stood alone in the spacious living room.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Good day to everyone! I'm so glad to be back. Finals is finally over. I can now focus on writing this. But we'll see how things go in the next few days. Anyway, I really appreciate the reviews. Again, if you get bored with the story, you can just leave at it. No hard feelings whatsoever. *laughs* But I really do owe a lot of thanks to those who would like to see what happens next. Trust me, it gets better. The characters are well-established, and the plot is thickening. So stay tuned. I hope you enjoyed this one, though. I'd also like to know what are your thoughts about this one, so please leave a review. Thanks a lot, guys. See you around._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven:**

It was the third Thursday of August. The sun had been up for almost three hours now, and so was Hermione. Her eyes glided down her body as she stood in front of the mirror. She wore a slender, tight black dress that cut at the end of her knees, giving her pale legs a little show. Draco was kind enough to lend her a dress when she realized she didn't have any, and when she asked where he got it, he simply remained quiet. She matched it with a pair of pointed heels that he also provided for her. She also remembered that Ron liked her hair in a bun because it didn't hide her face behind her frizzy hair; so Hermione thought, it might be nice to pin her hair up one last time.

 _For Ron_ , she thought. Her mind flooded with memories of him. Of them. She loved him; but she finally admitted to herself that she had loved him but not anymore. It pained her to admit how she fell out of love. She always thought, along with everybody, that they would end up together. But perhaps that was only an effect to the expectations—she went along with it because everybody said so. She remembered their laughs, their low-points, their arguments. Before Ron proposed, Hermione already knew that they had so many differences that not even the concept of "opposites attract" would resolve. They barely agreed on anything. Ron was satisfied and fulfilled; while Hermione yearned for something more than what she had.

Hermione shook her head before she could reopen closed doors. Sometimes, her mind was a palace; and some other times, it was a labyrinth.

Her eyes scanned the space of her bedroom. She had been living in here since the attack. She found solace in this four-walled room; even if her former enemy sits right out in the living room. And she realized that she liked this new Draco. Not the one who used to torment her and taunt her with name-calling; but this Draco, who cares even when he pretends not to. Indeed, Hermione noticed and appreciated his help. She wouldn't have made it far if he didn't help her cope.

On her left, the drapes had been pushed aside. It allowed the sunlight to enter, welcoming her with its warm presence, while she stood. The Weasleys couldn't have picked a better day for Ron's funeral. Perhaps Ron was in a better place. Even if Hermione suffered with the side-effects of her survival, she wished Ron didn't have to suffer further. She loves him, even as a friend, and she wished him the best even at death. Hermione agreed with Draco—Ron was such a git sometimes, but regardless no one deserved to be killed that way.

A soft knock rang into the soundless place. Hermione knew that it was Draco, waiting. His voice came soon after, asking, "Granger? Are you ready?"

Hermione thought of all things she could say. She laid out her options. She thought of retreating and avoiding the Weasleys just as she did the past week. However, it wouldn't change anything. The Weasleys would think of her as a coward; but Hermione knew that she wasn't the same brave Gryffindor as she was. So much has happened that every fiber of her strength and courage had been stripped off from her that she barely recognize herself.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. She straightened her dress. "I'll be out in a minute."

Five minutes later, Hermione walked out of her bedroom. Draco Malfoy waited in the living room with a book in his hand. He tilted his head back as if to recognize her arrival. She waited for him; and he stood. Hermione noticed his attire. He didn't wear his usual robes. Instead, he wore a tight black suit and the only pale color were his eyes and his hair. _He looked… Muggle_ , Hermione thought but remained quiet.

"Ready?" Draco asked once more. She nodded. Together, they Flooed to the Burrow.

* * *

Molly Weasley wanted this day to be perfect. In fact, she needed it. This was the last thing she would do for Ron. Not that she could ever stop doing anything for her children—dead or alive. She still knitted sweaters for Fred; and perhaps she still might knit another for Ron.

But this day… she needed everything to go the way she imagined it. She baked all of Ron's favorite foods and laid it on the long table in their dining room. Molly moved around restlessly around the house. Charlie and Bill helped set up the funeral; Fleur and Ginny helped with the cooking; George cleaned the house. She didn't ask them to but she guessed that they all felt needed even if only for this day.

"Mollywobbles," Arthur touched his wife's shoulders as they both stood in the kitchen and continued, "Why don't you rest for a while? Let us handle things…"

"No," Molly said. "I want everything to be… perfect."

"It's going to be alright, Molly," Arthur said. He pecked his wife's cheek when the sound of flames bursting in their living room was heard. He tilted his head back and said, "That must be Hermione. I shall go and check on her, alright?"

Molly's stomach dropped at the sound of Hermione's name. She knew Hermione since she was twelve. Ron had been rapping about this girl in his year, an annoying girl, but over the next few years, both had become closest of friends. She couldn't believe that Hermione would harm her little boy. She didn't want to even acknowledge the idea because she knew that Hermione would never do such thing.

Hermione terrified Ron, and even Harry, but Molly understood at best. Those boys always fooled around. Hermione was the only person who kept them at bay, who prevented them from doing anything that might end them up in Azkaban. Molly would never think of Hermione as a killer.

However, Molly knew that by drifting apart from Hermione, it would give an impression that Molly blamed her. Truthfully, Molly could never. She treated Hermione as her own child. She couldn't cut her out of the family even if her relationship with Ron failed. Molly only needed time—little time—to figure everything out and reorganize her life, something she failed to do when she lost Fred.

Meanwhile, Arthur immediately saw Hermione Granger as soon as he stepped into the living room. He also saw the young Malfoy behind her. Of course, Harry pulled him in on the news. _Draco Malfoy protects Hermione Granger_ , he remembered. It was the Minister's idea, of course; not that Arthur disagreed, in fact Draco would be Hermione's best chance of surviving this traumatic experience. Arthur had been hearing rumors that Draco even helped Harry catch a few Death Eaters, and if that's not a good sign of repentance, Arthur didn't know what else.

"Hermione," Arthur greeted her. Hermione remained stiff in her spot while Draco stood behind her. Arthur opened his arms to welcome Hermione into an embrace; but he noticed her reluctance, so he didn't push. "I'm glad you've decided to show up. Molly's just in the kitchen, fixing things. You know her," he ratted on, grinning.

He looked past Hermione and extended a hand to the young Malfoy, saying, "Thank you for bringing her here. I'm glad you could join us." Their hands joined for a shake.

The blond nodded his head without saying much.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione finally asked. That must've been the first thing she said, and Arthur was glad that she found her words. He hasn't seen Hermione in a long time. He couldn't even visit Hermione at the hospital while he tended to his grieving wife. He felt guilty for not dropping by.

Arthur looked out to the window and rocked on his feet, "Well, Bill and Charlie's fixing the soil for Ron's burial. Fleur's probably tending to the kids. Ginny—well, I'm not sure where she's gone to this time. She was just here a moment ago."

Hermione felt a pain in her stomach. Ginny avoided her. Ginny hadn't visited Hermione ever since she woke up at St. Mungo's. Hermione knew that she couldn't even visit Draco's flat but a letter would've sufficed. She could've asked Harry to deliver it. There are a lot of things she could've done if she really wanted to talk to Hermione—but so far, Hermione received nothing.

She didn't hate Ginny for not visiting or writing. She hated herself because she placed Ginny in a place where she had to pick between her and Ron. She wouldn't have Ginny do such thing but as circumstances appear, Ginny probably didn't have any choice. Ginny, along with the other Weasleys, mourned over Ron's death. _At least, they all had each other_ , Hermione thought.

A while later, Bill and Charlie came in. Sweat beaded through their foreheads and the back of their shirts soaked. Hermione turned toward to the two Weasleys who came in. She muttered a greeting, couldn't get herself to say more than "hi" or "hello". "Hiya, Hermione," Charlie beamed. He stepped and took Hermione into an embrace without hesitation, and later on, passed her to Bill.

Hermione's heart rummaged as she hugged both men. She didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps Harry was right all along, the Weasleys didn't blame her. Even so, Hermione still couldn't convince herself completely. A faint smile played along the lines of her lips before she turned to Draco. He looked rather surprised and out of place, but he didn't say anything.

"Where's Percy?" Hermione asked, quietly.

"Oh, he's out of town for work. He's been at it for three weeks now. Don't know when he's coming back, eh. Even if it's for Ron," Bill explained. His voice turned sad at his last sentence, and Hermione didn't know if anybody else noticed.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione sat on the couch with Draco standing near the doorway. His eyes focused outside as if he surveyed everything. Hermione didn't know what was going on in his mind. But it bothered her that she didn't know, and it also bothered her why she had to know. It wasn't her place to ask of such thing.

Draco turned, hands in his pockets, "You alright, Granger?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. It came out as a lie, and Hermione knew that Draco wasn't stupid enough to believe her.

"I never thought I'd see this day, though," Draco stated.

"What do you mean?"

"Here, at the Burrow. I've never been welcomed here. Being a Death Eater and all," Draco said.

"Things have changed," Hermione said. "We've all changed, you know." She didn't know where all of this where coming from. How come they were talking about change as if they were closest of friends? They were not. Hermione thought, _aren't they?_

Before Draco could add something more, Molly Weasley appeared from the kitchen. She looked awfully same as before. The same plump woman who nagged about almost everything. Except the bags around her eyes had gotten heavier and her face had been swollen from all the crying. Hermione immediately stood as soon as she walked in.

"Molly, I—" Hermione began when Molly took steps toward her and swooped her into a tight hug. Hermione felt herself melting in the arms of the woman who would've been her future mother-in-law. The woman muffled soft sobs on her shoulder as Hermione tried to figure out what to do next. Does she hug her too? What was happening? What if all of this was just some sort of mechanism? What if…

Not long, Hermione carefully placed her hands on Molly's back as a reassuring statement. Something along the lines of relief and boundary.

When Molly pulled apart, she wiped her face and said, "I know you didn't do it, Hermione. No one did. I don't believe the papers. I don't believe the rumors. No—Merlin, no. This is all just a misunderstanding, and the Ministry's doing everything they can to find out who did this to you."

Hermione's eyes stung. She nodded again and again with a smile creeping on her face. Her lips trembled as she did. Then they shared another embrace before deciding to begin the funeral. Draco followed behind as Molly pulled Hermione outside.

There were only so few who came. The Weasleys, the Minister, Harry, and a few other Aurors stood around the grave that Bill and Charlie had been digging all morning. The funeral was a small gathering. The Weasleys wanted to keep their son's name out of the paper, so they didn't announce the funeral. They only invited a few people by word and set the date immediately. The Weasleys have been waiting a week to bury Ron's body; and after the investigation and autopsy, the Minister finally allowed the body to be returned to the family.

Next to Bill stood Fleur with little Dominique in her arms. Bill's hand clasped to Victoire's hand as the little girl stood behind his leg. Charlie stood side by side with George, who nodded and smiled at Hermione. Ginny was still nowhere to be found. Harry managed to give Hermione a small kiss on the cheek before the ceremony started. Arthur placed his hand on his wife's shoulder. Molly tried her best not to cry again. And Hermione remained standing at the back with Draco near her. He kept his hands in his pockets while her hands fidgeted.

The ceremony began. Hermione could barely register everything that was happening. She saw things—too many things—that her mind swirled. Harry moved upfront for Ron's eulogy; but Hermione's memories flooded that it blocked everything that Harry said. Draco looked down to her, muttering something she couldn't understand. But Hermione waved it off. Her head pounded as she stood longer and she felt a hand hold hers.

She looked down into it. Ginny Weasley stood next to her, holding her hand, with a small smile. Her mind went static and quiet. Everything that screamed in her brain shut off as soon as Ginny's hand locked with hers in perfection, and she didn't know how Ginny managed to silence her mind. Hermione turned forward again, not releasing Ginny's hand, and listened to Harry's eulogy.

After the funeral, Molly gathered everyone inside for afternoon tea. The Burrow was too crowded for Hermione, so she stayed out on the porch with Draco. Each ate a small plate of pies and pastries Molly prepared. None of them spoke. Hermione looked out into the field, watching as the tall grass swayed to the movement of the air, while Draco sat tapping his feet. He looked more restless than Hermione herself.

"I'll be right back," Draco muttered and left. Hermione didn't know where he'd gone, but she remained quiet.

Not long after Draco left, Ginny sat next to Hermione on the porch. She had a half-filled glass of pumpkin juice. Hermione noticed she wore a black dress with sleeves cut by the elbows and black slippers. Her red hair parted at the back and both ends cascading down her shoulders. Hermione thought that Ginny looked beautiful.

"Hey," Hermione whispered. Ginny smiled. "How are you?"

"Just fine, I guess," Ginny said. "Look, I just want to apologize for not visiting you at St. Mungo's. I mean, when you woke up…"

Hermione took in a heavy intake of breath.

"…and also for not writing…"

"Gin," Hermione interfered. She didn't know what to say. Earlier she was disappointed that Ginny hadn't visited or written her anything, but now—her body melted at Ginny's words. "It's alright. It's difficult for everyone…"

Ginny's eyes started to water. But Hermione pulled her into an embrace; even if she felt uneasy doing so, but she knew that Ginny needed it right now. Ginny's hair smelled of rosemary. Hermione felt Ginny's hand run up her back to return the hug, and they stayed that way for a few minutes. When Ginny pulled apart, she sniffed and wiped her eyes and chuckled at how stupid she looked. Hermione also did, ending up smiling when she hadn't smiled in a long time.

"Ron used to come here a lot…" Hermione frowned at that. Of course, he did; this was his home. But Ginny continued, "I mean, in the middle of the night, he'd burst out of the fireplace. Sometimes, he'd come around wasted. We'd all scramble to figure out what was wrong, but Mom used to shoo us away and take care of Ron all on her own…"

Ginny paused. Hermione figured she might be finding the right words, leaving her to wonder why was Ginny telling her this. Then, Ginny added, "I could hear some of their conversations, you know. I didn't mean to eavesdrop; but Ron barely said anything that made sense when he's smashed. He just cried. Like a baby, that is. And Mom would calm him down." Another pause. This time, Ginny turned to Hermione. "I don't know what happened between the two of you. I just know that you two haven't been alright. Not what you pretend to be…"

Hermione sighed.

"…and it's alright, 'Mione. Not everything works," Ginny said. She placed a sloppy peck on Hermione's cheek before standing up. She turned to leave but faced Hermione again as if she had forgotten something, and said, "Can I ask you a favor?"

Hermione nodded, raising her eyes to meet Ginny's.

"Will you apologize to Malfoy for me?" Ginny said, her hands shaking as she talked. "I didn't mean to accuse him of anything. I just… I wasn't thinking. There's no excuse for my words."

"Accuse him of what?"

"Of hurting you. And Ron's death," Ginny said.

 _Ginny accused Draco?_ Hermione's mind swirled. Her mouth gaped when she heard Ginny's words, and worry filling the empty spaces of her chest. _When was this? Why didn't Draco tell her about it?_

"Don't you think it's better if you apologized to him yourself?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps. Maybe next time," Ginny said. She flashed one last smile before she went back into the house. Hermione was left alone at the porch to watch a flock of pigeon fly over. Her chest loosened as the wind blew in her face warmly.

Hermione thought that Draco Malfoy was a likely candidate as a suspect for the attacks if she hadn't known him. She still didn't know him completely. She only knew what she saw and what he allowed her to see. She only knew what others said about him. She only knew so few, but not entirely. But his actions these past few days had been nothing but polite and gentle as if he really cared about her. She didn't know he had developed a sense of civility and etiquette toward muggleborns, and she didn't know where his sincerity came from, but she believed it as much as she couldn't believe he could do such thing.

His battle to fix his family's reputation was a major sign of goodness in him. He rejected his father's empire and instead worked as an Auror. He fought for his family's honor, even if the Malfoy name had been stripped off its dignity after the war, he still tried. He didn't want anybody to see it; but Hermione saw it. She saw how hard he pretended to not care when everything she did made him worry. But her deductions of him didn't mean that she knew him personally. She just knew what she observed, and perhaps, that was enough to trust him.

"Granger," Draco appeared behind her again. "We shouldn't stay too long. It's getting late." Hermione looked out to the field again and realized that the sun was setting. The day was spent, and it was time for them to return. She turned to him with a nod before bidding farewell to everyone. Molly kissed Hermione's cheeks, reminding her to visit more. Hermione hugged every single one of the Weasleys, and Harry, and shook hands with the Minister and the remaining Aurors before Draco led her out to disapparate.

With a certain popping sound, they had disappeared.

* * *

Gliding the knife across this chin, Draco hissed at the pain on the near side of his neck. Blood dripped on the white lavatory, mixing with water, and sliding down to the hole in the middle. He leaned to the mirror and saw a small straight cut with a few more drops of blood trickling from its edge. He finished off the rest of his face before washing the wound up. He made another hissing sound when the water touched his open wound, coupled with a few curse words before the pain died.

She used to shave his facial hair most of the time. He couldn't do it alone because he always cut himself, and she told him once, " _You'd behead yourself if you keep cutting yourself like this._ " So he allowed her to shave him. Draco remembered her laugh. Her contagious laugh. He always cracked up whenever he heard her laugh because she had a funny laugh. His fingers traced the lining of her face, dotting the spots where he used to kiss her, and everything flashed in the moment.

He missed her. He _fucking_ missed her. Her scent erupted in his bedroom. Her sweat soaked on his pillows and covers where they lied from evening until morning until it was time for work. His hands fitted perfectly with hers, and his arms tangled them both into an embrace as if none of them wanted to let go. He also remembered her eyes; he'd never go tired of looking at her eyes as if they were filled with mystery and corners and walls that he'd get lost finding her depth. He promised himself to stare at her eyes forever. But that was far from happening now, was it?

He lost her. Because of one relapse, he did.

Draco shook his head before he could remember everything. Every laugh to every mistake. He couldn't. Not right now. He pushed it far into the back of his mind just like before. She belonged there, anyway. He picked up the towel and wiped his face before stepping back into his bedroom to get dressed. He opened the closet and found the space where all her clothes used to be. He picked up a set of clothes before shutting it again.

 _Forget her_ , Draco reminded himself. _But how? I don't know. Just fucking do it._

Draco punched the closet door. It didn't crack. He did it again, and again, and again. Until blood came and smeared the surface. He pulled his hand back and stared at it. He didn't stop because he felt pain. He stopped because he felt stupid. He never thought that he'd love someone as much as he loved her. He never thought he'd be stupid enough to think about marrying her. Draco saw the skin peeling up around his knuckles and he took his wand to heal himself quickly.

When he arrived at the kitchen to get a glass of water, he saw Hermione sitting near the fireplace. Her head tilted at the sound of his arrival, but she didn't move away. He watched her for a moment. Both of them shifting their gazes from each other to the fire that trickled. He saw her stretch her hands toward the fire as if catching whatever warmth it gave when he decided to return to his bedroom.

Before he could, he heard Hermione say, "Ginny wants me to tell you that she's sorry for accusing you." He remembered Ginny's words at St. Mungo's. It struck him lightly. However, he had been used to it. Seven years of overhearing insults and receiving disgusted looks made him used to it. He turned to face Hermione, who now stood firmly on her ground.

"Why didn't she apologize herself?" Draco inquired.

"I asked her that," Hermione said. "She might be scared or too proud to say something. I'm sure she'll come around."

"You can tell her that I accept her apologies," Draco said before turning again.

"Wait," Hermione called when she saw him leaving. He stopped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That she blamed you," Hermione said. She didn't know why it bothered her.

Finally, Draco took his step back and faced her. He stepped forward to her, closing their distance a little, and said, "I'm used to it. It's not the worse I've heard."

Hermione remembered herself insulting Draco for his family and ideology. He bullied her, but she bullied him back. None of them were better than the other. Both of them were victimized. Guilt came rushing into her veins like blood as she remembered everything that she and her friends accused him of; and even if half of it were true, he shouldn't have to hear it. She didn't realize that it hurt him as well.

"You shouldn't tire yourself, Granger. Get some sleep," Draco said before finally retreating to the bedroom.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Here's another chapter. I apologize because it's short, and for whatever typo-grammatical errors. Still, thanks for all the support. Hope you haven't given up on me yet. We still have a long way to go. I hope you enjoyed this one. For everyone who are excited to know more about Draco, stay tuned for the next chapter then. 'Til next time, guys! Thank you._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight:**

 _Where am I?_

 _Hermione gasped. She forced to pull herself up but with no success; instead, she found herself pinned down by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. Oh god, not this again. She gagged as she tried to kick her way out of where she was held. Her head waved around the room, and not so long did she realize that this was the same drawing room at the Malfoy Manor._

 _Her chest rose and fell. Too quickly that it didn't deliver enough amount of air. She heard Bellatrix's maniacal laugh. High-pitched and roaring into insane giggles as if she enjoyed doing this. She did enjoy doing this. Hermione moved her arms, kicked her feet, anything that would get her out of here—but this was pointless._

" _Where did you get the sword?!" Bellatrix wailed at her. Hermione received a loud slap across her tiny face. Her head seemed to have rolled over to the other side when her eyes spun in disorientation. A wand pointed at her, Hermione heard the Cruciatus curse spoken. Her body burned from the inside out along with a million daggers that poked her organs. She rolled off, but Bellatrix weighed her down. She had no way out of this._

" _You dirty mudblood!"_

 _Hermione screamed. She released a deafening scream that she had been suppressing down her throat. She let it fill the room, perhaps give life to the lifeless room, but her scream was of nothing but death. She screamed everything in her body as it filled with endless pain as if someone could hear her. She screamed her lungs out—maybe, just maybe, someone would finally hear her. She begged, she cried, she shook, she heaved._

 _Help me! Her mind screamed. Why don't you just kill me?_

 _When her eyes opened as the pain stopped, she saw a different person on top of her. It was Draco Malfoy. He straddled her on her waist. She did everything to kick him away but he was stronger than her. Even in darkness, she could see the smirk on his face as he pointed his wand at her. She screamed when the curse hit her body one more. Hermione's arms wriggled but there was something holding it down and she tried to fight it off but her strength had been spent fighting._

"Granger! Granger!" Her eyes flew open at the sound of her name. She saw Draco holding her in place. "Hermione… calm down. It's okay." Hermione realized that she lied on her bed, sweating, and Draco sat on the edge with his hands tight around her wrists. She looked around the place, where she had been sleeping for the last few days, and immediately pulled her hands away from Draco.

Draco released her as soon as she pulled herself far from him. He stood and moved away from her. He didn't know what she dreamt, but he reckoned it wasn't rainbows and fairytales. His breath caught up when he decided that she was alright.

Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest with her arms around it. Draco could still see her shaking as she sat on the far side of the bed. Her eyes turned from left to right as if she couldn't trust her surroundings. Draco wondered what she dreamed of. "Don't go anywhere near me, _Malfoy_ ," she stammered as tears slid down her cheeks and her mouth watered. "Please… just go. Leave me alone."

In her mind, she did her best to erase her nightmare. But Draco's face, smirking, as he tortured her with the Cruciatus curse—she couldn't. Her head throbbed. She remembered that night Bellatrix tortured her. The real night. But Draco never tortured her. In fact, he only watched. But what Hermione couldn't fully comprehend was that Draco torturing her in her nightmare. _It wasn't real_ , she reminded herself. She knew that it wasn't real but it felt real, and now she felt nothing but fear.

Draco nodded at her words and turned his heel to leave. Before he passed through the doorway, he tilted his head back and said, "You're not mad, Granger. We've suffered. We've all suffered; and we're still fighting the same monsters in our heads. Ourselves." After, Draco left and closed the door as he did.

Hermione remained on her bed, with her arms tightly secured around her trembling legs and her shoulders shaking too as tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She let out a deep sob accompanied with hiccups as she sat there. This time, she cried until she had nothing left to cry.

* * *

Hermione awoke, curled in a ball, on her bed in the early afternoon. She hadn't slept that much long in a long time. She stretched her body as soon as she saw the blinding sunlight coming through her window. A yawn escaped her lips, and suddenly, she remembered the events of last night.

The nightmare. Draco. Lashing out. Little pieces of memories gathered as if she needed to form them into a complete puzzle. But she didn't need to. She remembered it all too well. She pushed him away when all he did was help her. But her nightmare felt so real that she thought he actually hurt her. Hermione placed her head on her hands with her fingers tangling between her curls. Her breathing quickened as she remembered it—the pain, the guilt, the shame, the despair. How was she going to forget it?

Hermione suffered nightmares almost every night. It plagued her even after she woke. She'd spent hours trying to pick herself up from the pit she fell in and convince herself that it was nothing but a dream. But her dreams felt incredibly real. Every sensation, she felt them. She couldn't simply set it aside because she was reminded of every intricate detail with everything she saw.

The first time she had a real nightmare, it was after the war. She tossed and turned on the bed while she dreamed of Bellatrix laughing, doing the same things she did, and the word "mudblood" floating in her mind every damn night. Ron awoke next to her and tried to wake her up as well. He succeeded but he held her in his arms until they fell back asleep. This incident happened on a number of occasions, and Ron was out mostly whenever his work called for him; and Hermione was left all alone to fend for herself.

Now her nightmares horrified her more than she ever did before. She had tried sleeping potions to help with her slumber, but it always left her drained in the morning. She didn't look as if she rested well enough in the morning. And going to work in such state did raise some questions. So she stopped. She didn't want anyone poking their heads into her life again. If she could, she wanted to remain the headstrong and fearless Gryffindor everybody saw in her—but who was she kidding?

She's a horrible mess. Not even a bucketful of Draught of Peace could calm her nerves down.

By the time she showered, she walked out to the living room. There was no Draco Malfoy in sight. She'd expected him to be there, just like every morning, but this time, he wasn't. He left a sandwich on the counter and vial next to it, accompanied with a note. She picked up the piece of yellowish parchment with Draco's rushed script written on it, saying: _I left the sandwich for you. And a vial of Draught of Peace; it might help with the panic attacks in case. I just went out. The house is heavily guarded, I checked. Be back in a few hours. Don't leave._ He didn't elaborate as to where he went, which bothered Hermione. She folded the piece of paper again and stared at the sandwich.

As if she could go anywhere.

She picked up the cold sandwich from its plate and munched. She tried her best to not think too much about it. She worried that she wouldn't be safe enough without him here; but she didn't have a reason to doubt his decisions now.

* * *

The Malfoy Manor stood in its glory as Draco awaited outside its black iron gates. It wasn't that he wasn't invited—in fact, he was—but he liked to bide his time and watch the Manor remain still almost the same as it was when he grew up here. This was his ancestral home. And a monster raided it, made it his lair, and stripped it off of its dignity.

Draco hated Voldemort. Draco even hated his father more because he actually believed all the bullshit that Voldemort spewed at them. Lucius downright deserved all that he had received. He spent good three years of his life in Azkaban, subjected into torture and investigation, as the Ministry drained him of all information. He was one of Voldemort's most trusted believers after all. Last year, Lucius was released; his mother, Narcissa, welcomed him back to the Manor. Draco was the only one who wasn't happy upon his return. So Draco stayed mostly out of Lucius' way if possible.

Kori, a female house-elf, appeared near the gate. She exclaimed, "Oh, Master Draco! Kori didn't know that you have arrived already. The Mistress is waiting inside!" Draco presented a small smile at the house-elf before coming in through the gates, passing a thin shield that protected the property. Kori took Draco's hand and apparated him into his mother's massive garden.

Narcissa Malfoy sat next to a couple of women with a cup of tea in her hand. As soon as the popping sound of Draco's arrival, Narcissa turned her head to her son and beamed. "Draco, I wonder when you would finally turn up. I feared you'd get lost," she gave him a kiss on the cheek before pulling him into a hug.

"How should I get lost? This is my home," Draco chuckled. He reached and kissed her forehead. He gently took a small thin box out of his pockets and pushed it at his mother's hand before finally muttering, "For you, Mother. Happy birthday."

Narcissa grinned from ear to ear. Her eyes glinted at Draco's gesture. She pressed it close to her chest and sat back on her chair. Not long, Draco realized who had been sitting around the garden tea table. Pansy Parkinson sat on his mother's left, Daphne Greengrass sat on his mother's right, and Daphne's sister, Astoria, sat opposite to his mother. They had been from pureblooded families that Draco would've thought his mother was still trying to get him to wed any of them.

 _Anyone except Astoria_ , he thought.

"Good morning, ladies," Draco beamed at the women. He stood next to his mother. He didn't know why she had to invite them. _Why she had to invite Astoria_ , he cleared. Draco knew that his mother was particularly fond of Astoria but she must've realized it was rather an awkward engagement between him and her, and he wanted nothing to do with her.

 _Codswallop that is_ , Draco chided himself. _Fool yourself._

"How's the babysitting duties, Draco?" Pansy gritted her teeth at her question. Draco couldn't help but simply roll his eyes at her inquiry. Of course, Pansy was never fond of Hermione. She despised her for her blood—she was a downright blood-purist. Perhaps why she had to run to America to hide from the Ministry. Now he could only guess what brought her back. "Didn't infect you with Mudblood virus, did she? Merlin, I hope not… I wouldn't be able to touch you now."

Draco snorted, "I wonder how you still have your mouth. Someone surely must've had thought about stitching it since you couldn't shut your bloody trap." He saw Pansy snicker as she sipped her tea. Of course, his mother wasn't pleased that at his arrival, they had already started bickering like children. "Pray tell, Mother, why did you invite her again?"

Narcissa sighed and said, "Because she confides with me that she hasn't seen you in months. You haven't been attending their gatherings lately. She's worried."

"Worried is such a strong word, Mother. How about obsessed?" Draco grumbled. Narcissa's face turned sour, and before she—or Pansy—could say anything, he only shook his head. "My apologies, Mother. I think I should find my sort around this lot."

With that, he turned around the garden. By not too far, Draco found two men standing and each holding their own glasses of wine. He made his way to Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Draco has seen Blaise around the Ministry; but not so frequent this time since he stayed mostly with Hermione. Theodore, however, had been around the world doing business for the family. "Blaise, Theodore," he called them, and heads turned to look at him. "How are things?"

"Is that your way of asking, how are things at the Ministry?" Blaise smirked. "Well, everything's peachy, I suppose. Nothing too fancy. Except the investigation, as you know."

Right. The investigation. None of them needed to specify that terminology for they already know what investigation he meant. Hermione Granger's attack and Ron Weasley's murder. Draco couldn't do much with the investigation as well. Even if he wanted to work, he couldn't just leave Hermione. This day was an exemption since it was his mother's birthday, and he wasn't about to miss it for the world. Before he left this morning, he decided to check the wards on his flat and around the building again. It was still intact; but he still added some more wards to ensure her absolute safety.

 _There's no harm done in wanting her safe_ , he said to himself earlier.

"How about you, Theo?" Draco turned to his other friend. Theodore finally managed some of his father's business, one of which was transferring and delivering magical and historical artifacts around the world and another was auctioning these artifacts. "Good business?"

"Just right," Theo said. He took a gulp from his wine and looked around. "Is it true that Hermione Granger killed Ron Weasley?"

The question was out in the air before Draco—or Blaise—could even think about it. Blaise sighed as Draco felt his hands tightened. He wanted to punch something; but why, he certainly didn't know. "I'm afraid I'm not in position to disclose such information. Other than, of course, to fellow workmates. But personal opinion, no, I don't believe so."

"So you've gotten personal with her yet?"

Draco didn't know what to make of that question. He didn't even know where it erupted. He didn't even know why it existed in the first place. And why was Theo asking him such questions? It wasn't like he actually cared.

"No, Theo," Draco shook his head. "We're strictly professional in this case." Professional, right. Draco thought of being professional with Hermione; but seeing her suffer the way he did in the past few years, he worried that she might not make it. He cared for her even if it took everything in him to admit it. He wasn't generally fond of the idea of him caring about anything as well —most especially caring for Hermione—but there was no other choice. He already did care for her before he could even stop it.

He wished Theo would stop asking him questions now. He couldn't bear another. Fortunately, Blaise tapped Theodore on the shoulder and told him that they should probably see what the elves had prepared for them.

Draco turned his head sideways. His eyes effortlessly landed on Astoria Greengrass sitting opposite to his mother. She wore a purple dress that hugged her perfectly fitted figure. Her dark hair gathered into a tie with its length bundled in one large curl. From a distance, their eyes met. He missed seeing her eyes so close that he instantly melted; but now, he could only watch her from afar.

He loved her. _Bullshit, Draco_ , he reprimanded himself. _You still love her_. But even if he told her so, it really wouldn't have changed anything.

In attempts to find distraction, Draco faced the vast garden. His mother loved this garden. She spent time tending it before the war. But after the war, she wouldn't leave her bedroom. Until his father came back. Narcissa got better and decided that she wanted to demolish the rooms whereas bad memories happened. She remodeled the Manor, spent her days tending to the garden again, and taking care of Lucius.

From what Draco had last seen of Lucius, he was not himself. His hair had waved, still its length; and his posture almost slumped; he limped with his cane; his mind remained static. He mostly sat in his chair in a catatonic state and couldn't move without the help of another. Draco knew that his father suffered, and he knew that it was not even enough for all his crimes, but he mostly pitied his mother for all the sacrifices she made for this family. His father only decided to give up information to the Order as an exchange for Draco's freedom, and that was the only thing that Draco thanked him for.

Blaise came back without Theo. He held two new half-filled glasses of wine and offered one to Draco. The wine tasted bittersweet in Draco's tongue, the taste rolling over his tastebuds before finally swimming down his throat. "What are the women talking about?" Draco asked, as he saw the women at the garden tea table laughing and chattering.

"Oh you know, fashion and all," Blaise said. "How's Granger?"

Draco set his eyes on the wine that swayed inside his glass. He thought about the question. How was Granger? Even he wasn't sure how to answer that. He pulled himself back whenever he became too close; and she always remained locked inside her walls. But the undiscussed events were the only things that helped Draco understand Hermione. Her nightmares, her panic attacks, her reservation. These were things none of them spoke off, but already spoke for itself.

Draco said, "She's… terrible. Having nightmares and panic attacks."

Before he could stop, last night came into flash. She was scared of him. Draco didn't know what she dreamt of; but he might be in it. He felt her disgust the moment she woke up. It reeked stronger than her fear. He could feel it creeping up on his bones with her glare as tears formed on the edge of her eyelids. Her shoulders shook terribly, and he wanted nothing to do but hold her. He didn't even understand why he wanted to comfort her. But then, they've all had nightmares. He just wished she wouldn't let herself be alone just as he was.

Draco remembered his own nightmares. Some particularly of the war. His torment on those who didn't follow their orders; and even if he hesitated to do it, he had to. He hurt students. First years screaming. His father following Voldemort without so much of a remorse. He could clearly remember their faces, their agony, their pain, their suffering, their pleas to die, and him pointing his wand while Bellatrix stood behind him. Other nightmares were of Astoria. Their days together, their arguments; his violence. Most nights he drowned himself on Draught of Peace or sleeping potions just so he could get a good night's sleep.

"Everybody has nightmares," Blaise said. He stood firmly. Draco knew that even Blaise's charm, Blaise suffered on his own ways. Blaise never really had to talk about it; but Draco could read it through him. "I do. We're all fucked-up after the war. Who's to say we weren't suffering too?"

Seven years passed and it's not even enough to forget the war.

"Do you get along?" Blaise asked.

Draco remained quiet as he stood next to Blaise. None of them talked after his question. Blaise didn't press the subject. They took long sips from their wine. The noise of laughing women erupted behind them. The chatter, endless chatter, filled the air, and Draco's head ached at the sound of it.

"Hello, boys," a voice said behind them. Draco froze for a moment at the sound of such familiar voice before following Blaise who turned and kissed Astoria's cheek in greeting. He hadn't heard her voice in such a long time. His insides melted at her warm greeting. "Blaise, do you mind if I have a word with Draco in private?"

Blaise shot a look at Draco before shaking his head, "No, of course not. Take your time, Astoria." Without saying more to Draco, he left.

Draco noticed her now that she stood closer to him. She almost reached his height with her heels but Draco remained taller. He watched her hand clasped in front of her as they were both devoured by silence. Merlin, he dreaded to talk to her. His words dried from his tongue as if all the times he practiced seeing her again had been useless—why couldn't he say something?

"How are you, Draco?" Astoria began. Her voice soothing as she asked him that. He didn't know if she actually cared for him, and he didn't want to think so. If he thought that she cared for him, he might break his resolve and chase her again. _Stupidity_ , Draco groaned.

"Everything's fine. Work is fine," Draco said calmly. Even if the words find it difficult to escape his lips, he was glad that he could say few words to her.

"That's good to hear, Draco," Astoria beamed. "I hear you've got a new job. Or is it part of being an Auror?"

Draco tried to recall the beginning of his new task. The Minister picked him because he was by far the best chance Hermione has to survive this. He didn't know if that was true now. "Part of being an Auror. Just an upgrade, I guess," Draco finally said.

"How is she?"

"She's alright. Coping."

"That's good. It must be really hard for her after her fiance's death. Surely, she's terrified, isn't she?"

"She is," Draco said. _What does she want? Why is she asking me these questions?_ "How about you? How are things in France?"

Astoria twisted her body to face him slightly. Her wide smile dropped into a small one at his question. He knew that she knew that he wasn't asking because he wanted to; but only to return the favor. But then she regained her posture and grinned, "France is beautiful. I love waking up to the sight of the Eiffel Tower just outside my window. I wish you could've been there…"

"I'm glad you're happy, Astoria. I wish you all the best," Draco said. He didn't know if he meant everything. He certainly did want her to be happy… but happy with him. He wished she would stay. He wished he could turn back time and fix everything with her. He has always blamed himself for ruining their relationship because of one mistake; and perhaps, he could never forgive himself.

"I am happy, Draco," Astoria said. "Pierre is nothing but wonderful. He still works at the museum. Mother likes him very much because he's influential, and most importantly, a pureblood…" Pause. Astoria looked at Draco; their eyes meeting again. "I hope you are happy too…"

Draco sighed, and asked before he could even stop himself, "Why? Why him?"

"Oh, Draco," Astoria slowly took his hand around hers. Suddenly, Draco felt his entire body warm. His heart made a mess inside his chest as it thumped recklessly. "I just… I look at him and I know."

"Know what?"

"Why it never would've worked with us," she finally said. His heart that was once thumping so loud he could hear it in his ears had dropped to his stomach. He felt its weight him pulling down. _Why did you need to ask? Stupid fucker_ , Draco thought. "I'm sorry if I hurt you…"

"No," Draco said sternly. He released her hand. One more minute of holding her hand, he wouldn't have let her go. "I should… apologize. I hurt you."

"Well, then, I'm sorry if I couldn't help," Astoria finally said. Draco saw her look back and followed her gaze. The women are preparing to leave. Daphne Greengrass waved her hand for her sister to come over, and Astoria looked over at Draco again. "I wish you all the best, Draco Malfoy. Remember that I'll always love you…"

With her last words, she retreated to join the women in their chatter. Draco was left alone to remember her words. That might be the last time he'll ever hear her say she loves him, even if not as lovers. But Draco loved her to the extent of the ocean, both depth and width, because there was no other thing to compare it to. He remembered her; and he remembered everything.

 _It was eight o'clock in the morning when Draco rested his back on his couch while holding the neck of the Firewhiskey he had been drowning himself since last night. His chest flooded with liquor. His stomach floated in acid. He laid his head on the headrest when the door to their bedroom swung open, revealing a properly dressed Astoria with a large suitcase held by her right hand. He didn't raise his head. Nor did he say anything else._

" _I'm leaving, Draco," Astoria said. "I'm sorry. I'm tired of this…"_

 _The moment those words left her bright red lips, Astoria made her way toward the front door. Her heels thumped at each footstep, heavy to Draco's ears, but he still did nothing. His body weighed too much for him to move. He had been drinking since their fight last night, in attempts to drown himself more until there were no space for air in his lungs to breathe. He didn't know how to breathe anymore now that Astoria's leaving._

" _I love you, Draco. Please remember that… But I'm done fighting," Astoria said as she reached the front door. Draco placed the end of the bottle to his mouth again and took a long and deep chug down his throat. He didn't want to hear her anymore. He wanted to drown her in his mind if he could._

 _What was the point of fighting if he was the only one fighting? What was the point of holding on when she has already let go?_

 _Draco remained quiet. Astoria watched him from afar; her eyes waiting for him to say something to her. Perhaps she might change her mind if he begged her. But he never did. Astoria pulled the door shut on her way out, leaving Draco alone in their flat to drink himself to death._

 _He finally lost her._

Snapping out of his reveries, Draco took a glance at his mother. Narcissa watched him from where she stood while the girls around her continued their chatter, and Draco could only understand the concern in his mother's eyes. He forced a smile and waved at her. But that, of course, did not stop Narcissa from worrying. He was her son, after all.

Draco strode toward the group with his hands buried in his pockets. He placed a hand at the small of his mother's back and leaned toward her, kissing her temple, before saying, "I surely must get back. I can't be away too long…" His mother looked sad, but he embraced her gently, "I promise that I'll visit soon. Owl me, Mother…" He reminded her; but that was as if she could ever forget to owl him.

He bid this friends farewell before disapparating back into his flat.

* * *

Hermione placed the plating on the table when the sound of the front door opening alerted her of Draco's return. With her loosed curls dangling on the side of her face as it escaped its messy bun from behind, she raised her head slowly and watched as Draco stepped in. She saw the confusion on his face when he finally saw what she had done while he went away.

Hermione had decided to prepare some dinner for the two of them. She didn't know why she exactly did it; but she would like to believe that she did it as a form of gratitude for everything he has done for her. This morning when she woke up, she felt guilty for her actions last night that she felt she needed to make up for what she said and how she treated him. So she cooked a mean carbonara that she learned before she lost her parents.

"Good evening, Draco," Hermione greeted as she finished placing the utensils. "Dinner's ready. I made carbonara; but it's really the only thing I know how to make."

Draco frowned at her gesture. He couldn't understand what made her do this. Not that he didn't appreciate the effort, but he wondered why. "What are you doing?" He asked, remaining at where he stopped when he entered.

Hermione chuckled and repeated, "I made carbonara, just as I said."

"No," Draco said. "I meant, why?"

Hermione opened her mouth but closed it as soon as she realized she too was lost for words. Why, indeed. "Well, I just… wanted to thank you, I guess, for protecting me." Hermione didn't realize that she stuttered the words out of her mouth until after she said it. Then she cleared her throat and continued, "And as an apology for what happened last night…"

Draco tried to hide his smile but failed; instead, he nodded and said, "It was nothing…"

"I still feel guilty, though. I shouldn't have been mean. You helped me get out of that nightmare," Hermione said as she fiddled with the towel that hang on her shoulder.

"Apology accepted," Draco said quietly. He took a few steps toward the dining table and inhaled the scent of the warm meal prepared in front of him. "This should be good, Granger…"

"It's my Mom's recipe. She always cooked it for my birthday," Hermione said. She pulled a chair for herself while Draco sat across her. They sat and happily shared the meal she prepared. None of them spoke as they ate their meal, until Hermione decided to ask him, "Where have you gone to this morning?" She soon realized that asking him might've been stepping too far, so she added, "You don't have to tell me if you prefer not to…"

Draco lifted his eyes to meet her. His silvery eyes locked with her brown ones. It was just then that he realized how brown her eyes were, and regardless of how plain it looked, her eyes seemed to be too colorful to look plain. He knew that his reservation was at a breaking point. He cared about her. But he tried his best to not show too much. He wanted to tell her all about his day; but doing that might remind him more of his conversation with Astoria. So he decided to leave it out and instead finally said, "It was my mother's birthday. I decided to pay her a visit…"

Hermione nodded and continued eating. Their entire meal, both of them kept taking glances at each other until they finished. Draco helped her clean up. But both remained quiet as they cleaned the dining room. There was nothing else to talk about.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I know, I know. I'm eager to post. Whatever. I've been dying to post this chapter, so here it goes. I hope you enjoyed reading that. That answers a few questions to Draco's background. So we'll see what happens next. There are a few interesting events in the next chapter. So, just stay tuned. Apologies for the errors; deep gratitude for the support and patience. You lot are all amazing and wonderful. Thank you._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine:**

The Minister, at Harry Potter's request, summoned Hermione Granger to his office at noon, on August 24th. It was a working Tuesday. The investigation had been slow; and even Kingsley Shacklebolt stressed on finding these culprits before they could do greater and terrible damage. _That was however unlikely_ , he reminded himself. These monsters were so bent on tormenting Hermione for whatever reason that evidences of their identities or motives were non-existent.

In his hand, he fiddled with a piece of paper that he received earlier today. He unfolded the parchment again and surveyed his eyes over the words printed in a careful script warily; and the letter read: _Sacrifice the Mudblood or I will be forced to slaughter some slimy and filthy muggles. Their blood will be split on the streets of London, and it will be on your hands. You know you cannot stop me. You have twenty-four hours._ Minister Shacklebolt dreaded, yet had to take this threat seriously. The killer, or killers, would drag the innocent muggles into their problems; and the Minister needed to find a way to prevent that.

Four days since he received it. No trace, no post records. Nothing. There are things happening—too much, if he would note—that questions were piling up more than its answers. None of it fit the puzzle. He didn't understand how this could've gotten from bad to worse. Solving this case was a necessity; and slipping their developments into the enemies' hands would surely jeopardize achieving that. He needed to solve it so discreetly.

 _Surely, without having to sacrifice Miss Granger,_ the Minister thought. At least, Harry Potter agreed with him that they should keep this threat confidential for now. Hermione Granger is far more valuable than most wizards and witches, and the Minister was not slightly compelled to let her go easily. If Hermione knew of this letter, she would definitely sacrifice herself in a heartbeat. Even the Prophet has been buzzing around them lately—trying to get a scoop regarding recent events. And having the public know more, it would certainly cause serious panic.

So far, there are only about less than ten people who are definitely aware of the case, and Minister Shacklebolt wanted to keep it as few as that.

A moment later, a soft knock rang into his office. He immediately slipped the paper back into his drawer before ordering the person behind it to come in. The door opened with control; and the Minister saw Harry Potter step in with Hermione Granger behind her. Of course, Draco Malfoy followed last. The Minister noticed that Hermione seemed restless; her eyes were heavy and dark, her shoulders slumped as if she carried the weight of the world, and her face blotchy.

"Good day, Miss Granger. It's definitely wonderful to see you alright," the Minister greeted her. _Restless was better than dead, after all_ , he thought. He moved his eyes toward Draco and nodded. "How about you both take a seat on the couch? I'll ask someone to deliver some tea." The Minister went on to tend to his guests; while Harry Potter remained standing a few feet from where Hermione sat.

When the secretary came in with four cups of tea in a silver tray, Minister Shacklebolt stood tall next to Harry. He closed his arms over his chest and sent his gratitude to his secretary before she disappeared. He finally said, "This must be too forward, Hermione, and I know that the past few weeks have not been so… great. The investigation, as you can say, is painfully slow; but I trust that Harry is doing his best to solve this. I'm sure he informed you that the trail had gone cold; now, it has gone dead. The evidences lead to nowhere…"

Hermione let out an audible sigh.

"…but worry not, we will still pursue this case as top priority. We cannot simply take Mr. Weasley's death, and your attack, as something to be easily set aside," The Minister continued. His eyes glided to Draco who listened but not saying anything. "First of all, how are you?"

Hermione shut her mouth. She didn't know how to answer. Her emotions these past few weeks have not been reasonable. In fact, she couldn't place her emotions right. She didn't know what to do whenever she had an anxiety attack. She didn't know what to do whenever tears just slipped out of her eyes. She didn't know what to say to Draco whenever he asked her if she was alright because he doesn't believe her anymore. But there was one thing she was sure of: her madness.

She managed to say, "I'm alright, I guess…" _Lie_.

"Good, good. That's good to hear," the Minister said. He snapped a look at Harry, who then looked as if he weighed the world on his shoulders. Most of them were burdened by the weight of the world after all. He let out a sigh. This was not getting easier. "Well, since Harry couldn't go on with the investigation, we thought that you could help us shed some light into that night…"

That night. Hermione's breath hitched. She told them of that night multiple times. She didn't know how to make them see what she saw. She could barely remember anything except for unclear images and snaps of that incident. Even her nightmares mixed with her memories. How would she differ what was real and unreal? That night had been far too long now that remembering about it brought her headache as if her mind tried to shut itself off. She lodged it in the back of her mind, not wanting to relive it every day by remembering, and only to be uncovered again by her unconscious when sleeping.

"I don't know how to—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted her. "We're asking if we can perform Legilimency on you."

Her muscles flexed. Even Draco, who stood at her side, tensed. Both of them knew that Harry was venturing on such dark waters. This was her mind. This was what defined her; stocked away with good and bad memories, an organ that mechanized her personality. For quite a while, she felt control over herself; but now, she felt like a tourist in her own mind.

"We would not ask you this if there were any solid evidence," the Minister said. "But, as I said, there isn't any. This is our chance of knowing what exactly happened that night…"

"But, I barely remember anything—"

"That doesn't matter," Minister Shacklebolt assured her. Hermione's fingers hardened as she fisted her hand. Her chest rumbled as if a storm brewed into the space inside her ribcage. "Your mind can play tricks. But using legilimency, we can relive that night as if we were there."

Relive. Hermione shifted in her seat. Would she even want to relive it? Her shoulder bumped into Draco's elbow, and when she looked over to him, he was already watching her. His eyes didn't leave hers for a moment. She wanted to believe that that was sincerity in his eyes. He looked at her with such concern but did not say anything.

"Okay…" was all she said, and Draco dreaded her answer. He knew, and even she knew, that she was not in her right state of mind to do such thing. Her mind tormented her with memories that she wanted to forget. He knew because he also has memories he wanted to forget. Only, he learned to cope by drowning himself in both Firewhiskey and Draught of Peace just so he wouldn't have nightmares.

 _Everybody has nightmares_ , Blaise had told him.

"Wonderful. Harry, shall we?" Minister Shacklebolt said, and they prepared to perform legilimency. Hermione stood from her seat and faced Harry. Harry drew his wand from his side, pointing the narrow end in front of the little spot on Hermione's forehead, before muttering the spell. Without a blinking second, Harry found his way into Hermione's mind.

He was in. It didn't take him five minutes to find the right scene. That dark morning of August 12th.

The scene showed Harry a bedroom. He knew this bedroom. This was Hermione and Ron's bedroom, the last door at the end of the hall on the second floor. In front of him, Hermione—wearing a clean nightgown she was running into that night—stood with her body arched slightly as if she was engaged in a heated argument. On Harry's side was Ron. He hadn't changed his work clothes yet, Harry remembered. And Harry realized—indeed, they were fighting.

It was not an uncommon scene. He had seen numerous accounts of Hermione and Ron fighting. But this seemed to be rather more heated than before. There were tears streaming across Hermione's face. Ron's cheeks were flushed as he fought back. Her hands waved. His head tilted up in defeat. Harry thought to himself, _what the hell was going on?_

Soon, their voices echoed in Harry's ears. _"I'm tired of this bullshit, Hermione!"_ Ron argued as he paced across their room. " _We're losing ourselves over this! How did we end up like this? I love you, Hermione. But I don't know if this is still the right thing… We've lost so much. We've suffered enough. One mistake and we're both deteriorating…_ "

Hermione snapped her head back at him. Her eyes burned with fire. _"How can you call that a mistake? I lost her too!"_

" _That's it! You think you're the only fucking person who lost her! I lost her too—my fucking child; and for once, I thought I had something good until I fucking lost her! I blame myself every day, Hermione!"_ Ron snarled. His teeth gnashed, and his blood boiled in so much anger.

Harry suddenly felt his chest burn. He knew now what they were fighting about; and he remembered how it both destroyed his best friends. Ron drank himself to death after work, going from bar to bar, club to club, downing himself with alcohol because he couldn't even speak about it to anymore. _Not that he didn't want to_ , Harry thought, _but he simply just didn't know how to_. Hermione, however, didn't seem to like talking about it but Harry knew… he knew that she was hurting too.

" _I didn't want to be that only one who lost her, Ron!"_ Hermione shouted back. _"I wanted to mourn for her with you!"_

Suddenly, Harry felt it. _The wards_ , he thought. Both of them stopped shouting. All of their anger turned into fear in a split second; and next thing Harry saw was Ron moving toward the door with his wand drawn. Ron muttered, " _Lumos,_ " as Hermione followed. The moment they reached downstairs, Harry saw beams of light bursting from both of his friends' wands to the other side. Harry tried his best to catch up to what was happening but the assault was too far for him to follow. An exchange of curses was all Harry could hear. Harry tried to see the intruders' faces but they were covered with silver masks.

" _Protego!"_ Ron shouted as he blocked Hermione.

" _Confringo!"_ Hermione fought back with the rest of her strength.

A red beam hit Hermione in the left shoulder, sending her against the wall behind her; and as she tried to regain her balance, several kitchen knives flew to her way when Ron immediately blocked himself in front of her. Hermione's eyes widened as the knives penetrated Ron's back to his chest and a gasp left her mouth softly, followed by a whimper, as Ron breathed one last time. His blood splattered on her like spray. She heard him falter, _"I'm—"_

Then, Ron's knees gave up and he fell face down in front of her. Her legs softened as the sight of Ron. She reached out her hand to touch his chest; but her hands only made a mess from all the blood that spilled. She moved closer to crawl toward him when she noticed her intruders coming to her. She jumped from where she stood and ran to the back door. One caught her nightgown but Hermione managed to push him away—his mask clattering down from his face—but she failed to see him clearly.

Even in Harry's perspective, the man's face was a blur. Hermione's mind hasn't yet registered his face. He heard her whimper as she stumbled out into the lawn. And he felt it. He felt her fear, her anger, her guilt. She was more terrified for her life. Once she managed to get out, she gathered her remaining strength and disapparated.

When Harry pulled him out of Hermione's memories, he instantly fell down on the floor. Most of his strength has been spent. In front of him, Hermione stood with sweat covering her entire body. He could see her shaking; and he realized he was too. But he was certain that he was shaking out of anger—an emotion that drove him to his edge. He leapt out from where he fell and lunged to Hermione.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry's voice towered over the silence that filled the room. It startled her, as well as Draco and the Minister. "Hermione—why… why didn't you tell me?" This time, his voice came as soft; but none of them was certain it would hold.

"I—" Hermione tried, but her voice broke. Tears welled on the corners of her eyes.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

His voice erupted into the spacious room, resulting in echoes, and Draco watched as Harry took another heavy step. Before he could reach Hermione, Draco blocked himself between the two of them. Harry raised his eyes to the blond that came in his way and spat, "Malfoy, this is none of your damn business. So get the fuck away—"

"It is my business if you're going to torment her more than she already suffers," Draco remarked. His voice also sounded threatening as he firmed himself between the two. Draco recalled all the nights Hermione awoke from her slumber because of her dreadful memories. Everything flashed. _Her entire body suffered_ , Draco thought. _She suffers more than enough_. He couldn't let Harry do more damage.

"Malfoy, I'm warning you—"

"Harry," Minister Shacklebolt interrupted. "Please, this is not the right time and place to do this."

"No, you didn't see what I saw, Kingsley. She—"

"You're right. I didn't see what you saw. Nevertheless, we must all be reminded that she is a victim here; not a suspect. And if it does matter to you, she is still your best friend, and I will not have both of you tear each other apart in my office!" The Minister exclaimed. His voice rose and tensed; but he sighed in defeat when he realized that how he had expressed himself.

Draco eyed Harry Potter as he stepped back. The anger that bounced of Harry's chest was still there; yet Draco was relieved that Harry retreated. Draco began to think of how he was going to pick up the pieces again now that Hermione has started remembering that night. Of course, she hasn't been fine because of her nightmares; what would happen now that her nightmares had become reality?

Behind him, a loud thud was heard. As Draco turned, he saw Hermione down on the floor. Her eyes shut as she moaned unconsciously. He crouched down to her and pushed a strand of curled hair from her eyes. He heard the Minister, "Oh, dear. Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine," Draco assured him. "She's just exhausted. May I take her home now?"

"Of course. We'll keep in touch," the Minister said. "Send her my apologies when she wakes up."

Draco nodded. He slid one of his arm under Hermione's back and the other under her knees before lifting her off the floor; her head nestled against his chest as he cradled her. She let out a soft noise that assured Draco that she was still alive. He leaned close to her ear and whispered softly, "You're alright, Granger. You're safe…"

And with a certain familiar pop, he disapparated them away.

* * *

The quiet flat was disturbed at the sound of their arrival. Draco still carried Hermione in his arms when they entered the front door. He took slow steps toward the guest room, keeping her deep in her sleep, and as gentle as he could, he placed her on the bed. Draco pulled the covers from her feet and draped it over her stiff shoulders.

Draco watched her sleep. Just one minute. He stared at her eyelashes—batting as dreams moved behind her eyelids; and he only wished that this time she dreamed of something better. Her hair splayed over the pillow but it wasn't a messy look. Rather, Draco thought that her hair was one of her greatest trademarks. Brown and bushy, tangled and messy. He couldn't really understand why he thought of Hermione as such; but his care for her had grown deeper than he would've admitted.

He hated that he didn't know. He wanted to know why; but the sight of Harry earlier worried him that it might make Hermione worse than she already was. These were things that Draco found difficult to answer, especially that Hermione wasn't someone he'd genuinely cared for in the first place. It was a mystery to him as to why he felt protective of her. Perhaps he simply did not want her to end up as he was—dealing with his nightmares and dramatic antics recklessly.

When Draco had decided to leave, Hermione stirred. He saw her eyes flutter, and the next thing he realized, they were watching each other. _Merlin_ , Draco thought, _her eyes_. "Draco?" She asked. The sound of his name in her mouth felt heavenly to his ears—again, he didn't know why. Instead he allowed the breath that he didn't realize he had been holding escape.

"Rest, Granger. It's an exhausting day," Draco said. Immediately, he turned to his heel to leave.

"Wait," Hermione stuttered. He heard it in her voice. Each letter came out as broken glass; and he heard nothing but pain. "Can you… Will you please stay?" He turned his head to face her again. Why was she asking him to stay? His eyebrows burrowed into a frown. But he saw her eyes; those eyes that he once saw as something other than plain had now turned into something that seemed lifeless. Her eyes shook as if tears threatened to fall but there were no tears. She said, "I'm just… scared. I don't want to be alone right now."

Before Draco could manage to stop himself, his feet unconsciously made their way back to the side of her bed. He sat on the empty space next to her. His body weighed so heavy that his shoulders felt as if there was something sitting on it. He realized then that it was the weight of Hermione's heart he carried. With her words, it felt as if she was transferring some of her burden to him. Perhaps she needed some outlet to plug herself to—to _connect_.

He watched her hide behind her hands as she let out a loud sob. "I hate this, Draco. I hate that I'm not the same brave Gryffindor girl. I hate that I'm not as headstrong as I was. I hate that I've lost control over my life," she cried—but Draco couldn't see her; instead he only heard the pain in each of her words. It sounded as if shame and guilt had been mixed in together. This was the first time she showed himself naked in front of her, raw and flawed, in all of her broken pieces and imperfection.

And, if it wasn't for Salazar's sake, he would've taken her in his arms without a second thought. _Get over yourself, Draco_ , he reminded himself.

"Potter's just emotional right now," Draco said. "He'll come around."

"I saw what he saw. I remember, Draco," she whimpered. She sniffed and hiccupped at the same time. He wanted to face her again but he didn't want her to see how much it affected him. So he gripped the edge of the bed tightly in his attempts to avoid himself from doing something stupid. "Ron died because of me. The knives were for me. But… he caught it. He saved me. I should've been the one who died; not him. I should've been the one who died; not him. I should've been dead—"

Draco finally faced her as she began blaming herself. He reached for her hands and pulled them from her face. Her fingers trembled as he touched her. She leaned up slowly; and he finally saw her eyes. Her eyes—bloodshot red and swollen, but in the middle were her brown irises that defined her face well. Slowly, he realized that he was still holding her and decided to let her go. He didn't even know why he took her hands in the first place.

 _Merlin's beard, Draco_ , he scolded himself. _What the fuck?_ _Get you goddamn shit together._

"I should probably leave you to rest," Draco cleared his throat. He immediately stood from the edge of the bed and soon reached to the door. He needed to leave before he could do something… _aggravating_. He stopped midway, took a glimpse of Hermione, and said, "You should rest, Granger. I'll be outside if you need me…"

With that, he left her alone in the spacious guest room. He shut the door behind him before pushing his hands between the strands of his pale hair. He let out a sigh and grunted as he recalled what had happened. What exactly had happened? He didn't know. He didn't understand his decisions anymore. It was as if he had lost control of her body as much as Hermione lost control of her mind.

Why does he care so much for her?

He tried to find his resolve. Draco had lost it in the middle of everything. Things were happening too fast. His mind swirled with thoughts that he never knew its origin. He bloody told himself that he would not get personal. _This was only a job_ , he scolded himself. _It's not anything more than what it is. Just a job_. But even if he tried to convince himself, he couldn't believe his own words. Each syllable, each sound, was dripping with acid; a dangerous taste that he knew would kill him instantly.

 _Goddammit. Merlin, help me._

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned on his office chair with eyes closed after an exhausting day. He thought about the events that occurred earlier at his office. He thought of the entire investigation, and how hopeless it now seemed. Harry had filled him in on what he saw in Hermione's memories after he had finally settled down. The Minister couldn't believe that even Hermione's memories proved fruitless; and he already wanted to throw this case on the trash.

However, he couldn't let Ron Weasley's death go unsolved. He owed it that much to Arthur Weasley. Or the Wizarding world. He couldn't simply let the _monsters_ responsible for this crime go unpunished. Minister Shacklebolt, even as much as rational as he tried to be, was still a man. He was entitled to feel anger toward his incident. He tried his best to make the Wizarding London as safe as possible; but with this recent event, he felt as if his efforts were worthless.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Blaise Zabini entered his office. Most of the employees at the Ministry must've already gone home. But the Minister asked Blaise to see him at his office at this late hour. The Minister eyed Blaise as he entered—wearing his normal suit and cloak outside, with an eased look on his face.

The Minister trusted so little. Harry was one, Draco was another. _Blaise was something special_ , he thought. He didn't exactly want to be caught up in the war; but with his family issues, Blaise had nothing but the security Voldemort had promised him. Of course, he was fooled by a madman. However, there was no guarantee for security in Voldemort's ranking; he was, after all, a cold-blooded killer.

After the war, Minister Shacklebolt hired Blaise to be an Auror. Blaise specialized in battle tactics and strategies on Voldemort's side; and the Minister found it helpful in investigations. Blaise's expertise centered on decoding information, psychoanalysis, and strategies. Blaise was one of the few people who knew about the investigations—their developments, even if it were so little. Now, Minister Shacklebolt required him of one thing tonight—finding a leak in this deliberate attack.

"Good evening, Mr. Zabini," Minister Shacklebolt greeted.

"Is it, really?" Blaise inquired before smirking at the tall dark man in front of him. "Is this about the investigation?"

Minister Shacklebolt did not hesitate. He handed Blaise a piece of paper. It was the first threat—and the Minister hoped it would be the last. Blaise carefully opened it with both hands before turning his eyes back at the Minister. "Was this from the suspects?" Blaise asked, finally taking a seat across the desk.

"Not certain; but highly probable," Minister Shacklebolt said.

"Who knows about this if I may ask?"

"Just me, Harry, and you."

"You haven't told Draco yet," Blaise informed. "Why?"

"Well, I didn't want to raise an alarm that we're not sure of. I didn't want to worry Miss Granger more than she already is," the Minister said. "I take it that she's not entirely well right now. Worrying her would lead to panic and rash decisions."

"Even if she was the one required in exchange to stop this madness?"

"Even if, Mr. Zabini," the Minister said proudly.

Blaise nodded in understanding. He studied the handwriting. He even smelled the paper. It smelled old as if it had been stored somewhere for a long time. The handwriting was legible and careful. There were no errors; except for a few ink smudges across the paper. It was carefully written as if written by a woman. He sat the paper back on the desk and leaned against his own chair.

He said, as a matter-of-factly, "It was by a woman."

"A woman, you say?"

"Yes," Blaise said. "The handwriting was neat. There were no errors—"

"What if _he_ was simply neat in his writing?"

" _She_ ," Blaise corrected the Minister and continued, "The strokes, the lining, the spaces in between the letters. I'm certain it was by a woman's hand. Left-handed, I might add."

"Left-handed?"

"There are spots of ink smudged on the left side of the paper as if she dragged the ink while she wrote this letter. Neat handwriting, but not so neat in preparation," Blaise concluded.

"We're looking for a woman, then," Minister Shacklebolt said as he finally gained some motivation. Who would do such thing to murder Ron Weasley in cold blood and attack Hermione Granger? The Minister only thought of it as a man; but now, as Blaise said, it was a woman. "That is some valuable information, Mr. Zabini. I'm glad you were able to help."

"Of course. Although, she might be working with someone," Blaise said.

Minister Shacklebolt agreed, "I thought so too." Such deliberate attack couldn't have been done by one person. Then he saw the confusion in Blaise's eyes, and waited; and later on, Blaise found his voice again and asked, "May I ask you a question, Minister?" The Minister nodded. "Do you believe the threat?"

The Minister let out a sigh, before saying, "I don't want to; but it seems like a serious threat. I can't simply ignore it. If the writer then proceeds to kill Muggles, then the dangers of war between Wizarding world and the Muggles would be inevitable. We would be exposed."

"What do you propose to do then?" Blaise asked. "Surely, we have to keep this quiet. Else there would be chaos and panic."

"Of course," the Minister agreed. "I agree, Mr. Zabini. But first, we must track down the writer of this message. And I would very much like you to follow up regarding this."

Blaise knew the moment he saw that letter that the Minister would ask him to follow up on it. The Minister was right; he worked best in decoding. He could easily analyze a person by looking at their handwriting or how they make their tea. Of course, sometimes it takes a bit more than that; but the smallest of things could reveal the biggest of truths.

"Alright," Blaise said. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Minister Shacklebolt said. "Time is of the essence. Thank you for your help, Mr. Zabini."

"Pleasure's all mine, of course. Oh, and please inform me if you get more threats. You or Granger or Potter—anyone." Blaise grinned before saluting, "'Evening, Minister."

The Minister nodded at him. He was sure to do that. He watched as Blaise walk out of his office without another word. At least, they were taking small steps into solving this case. Minister Shacklebolt's head ached earlier; but now, he was relieved.

 _A woman_. _Nineteen hours left._

* * *

 _Author's Note: Evening, people. First of all, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas. This is my Christmas gift to all of you. I suppose some of you have been waiting for improvements and answers to some of the questions. So since everyone's suggesting the legilimency, here it is. I might also add that I had planned this before you could even suggest it. Like I said, you'll simply have to wait and see. Now, I realize-and I admit-that the story has been rather slow. So I restarted the outline I wrote for this story, and changed some of the events._

 _Anyway, I thank those who leave reviews for me. Especially to christineocheallaigh; and I would like to clarify some things for her. First, I want to clarify regarding the Healers using Muggle methods and such. I do admit that I forgot to put some Wizarding methods, but I have mentioned in the story that the Wizarding world now makes an effort to combine their methods with Muggle ways to end prejudices. Second, the attack as meant for Ron instead of Hermione, I would say that it's unlikely. Why? Well, let's say that this is a story focused on Hermione; and because evidences are piling up referring to Hermione. I do apologize for not clarifying that earlier. I suppose you are right. If I left some things to clarify, please message me or leave a review. Whatever's convenient for you, of course._

 _For those who will ask why Hermione's real memories and nightmares are different, well, that's the different between reality and dreams. Dreams can alter things in your mind. It was simply her mind playing tricks and confusing her more._

 _Again, I apologize if I left out some details. I'm still trying to finish the outline. It's simply raw, and I admit, still flawed. I know I must revise this after the story's been completed. But I do appreciate your endless support. I love the reviews. Thank you so much. Apologies for the errors. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this one. Until next time! Thanks!_

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten:**

Splashing a handful of cold water on his face, Draco tried to keep himself awake. At least, sober. Water dripped from the sharp edge of his jaw down to the white lavatory where his hands were. His eyes stared closely at his own reflection. He studied his face, and how old age has finally caught up with him. He wasn't the same scrawny teenage boy as before; he was an adult.

His grey eyes were tired. Early this morning, he bolted upright from his bed as he pulled himself out a nightmare. It was still dark when he woke up to a start. From what he guessed, it was around fifteen minutes past four o'clock in the morning and he only managed three hours of sleep. Not that it was a decent sleep. His mind started playing tricks on him again. And even now, he could remember the nightmare clearly.

He was standing in the dungeons at Hogwarts. Bellatrix trotted behind him in excitement, and her voice giddy at the thought of them torturing some first years who don't belong in Slytherin. In short, Slytherin half-bloods. She leaned to Draco's ear and whispered with a mixture of distaste and elation, " _Say it like you mean it, my nephew. Make the Dark Lord proud._ " Draco remembered the way he held the hilt of his wand—his hands were sweating and the weapon almost slipped through his fingers. He even felt his heart hammering against his ribcage; perhaps wanting to leap out and die right there so he wouldn't have to do this.

" _Crucio,_ " he stuttered. The Unforgivable bounced from the tip of his wand to the young Slytherin girl in front of him. He heard the girl beg before he uttered the curse; but he ignored it and went on to do it. His fingers trembled as he gripped his wand and held the curse to the girl's limp body. Her screams pierced through Draco's skull, and it had been a signature reminder of all the bad decisions he had done. He repeated the curse. Bellatrix's manic laughter echoed behind him until it faded to black; and he woke up.

The moment he woke up, he was soaked in perspiration. His shirt had been drenched, and the beddings even absorbed his sweat. His blond hair were plastered all over his forehead. His heart wouldn't stop beating so fast that he couldn't catch his breath properly. He had dosed himself with another vial of Draught of Peace and a chug from his Firewhiskey before going back to bed. However, he tossed and turned for another two hours before he finally fell asleep.

When his eyes cracked open again, it was in the late morning. The sun was high already; its light breaking through the drapes that he had closed last night. He pushed them side to side and allowed full blinding light to come in before going to the bathroom himself. And this was how he ended up washing his face with cold water a couple of times to keep himself _sober_.

Taking the small face towel that hang on the side, he dried his face. Draco strutted down to his closet and pulled out some decent clothes for himself when he heard a soft knock on the door. He waited, until he heard that familiar voice—so warm that his body temperature seemed to rise as well—and said, "Draco? Are you awake? There's… um, someone knocking on the door. I don't know if I should open it…"

Draco swung his bedroom door open. Hermione stood in her proper clothes. She looked as if she already had her shower and breakfast. One glance at his kitchen and he knew that he was right. There were some prepared food on the counter. He looked at her again, noticing how pink her cheeks were with her lips trapped between her gritting teeth. He raised his eyebrows at that gesture but he said nothing.

Hermione began again, "There's, um, someone at the door—"

"I heard you the first time, Granger," Draco said softly. Behind him, he closed his bedroom door before walking to open the front door. His eye peeked through the peephole, and with a sigh, he opened it wide. A woman in her late forties immediately came in as soon as the door opened. Draco followed the woman back into the house to see Hermione waiting by the hall. "You didn't tell me you were coming, Mother," Draco informed the woman.

Hermione didn't immediately recognize the formal-looking woman in front of her. But now that she realized, Narcissa Malfoy hadn't so much aged a day. She looked the same. Her face looked stern and firm, with her lips twitched into a sly smirk, and her hands clasped together in front of her. The sides of her head, Hermione noticed, that blonde hair emerged but at the top remained a brunette shade.

"Well, I simply did not have the time, son," Narcissa replied. The old woman turned to Hermione with a smile. "I believe we haven't been introduced—"

Draco stood between Narcissa and Hermione and said, "I believe you've all been properly acquainted before. Anyway, Mother, this is Hermione Granger…" Narcissa extended a hand to Hermione, which the young woman hesitated to take but she did anyway, "…and Hermione, this is my mother, Narcissa."

"Pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Granger," Narcissa beamed. "Of course, indeed, properly. Our paths had only crossed just shortly after the war. But I've heard so many delightful words about you."

"It was nice to meet you too, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione replied. Her cheeks flushed as soon as she said the words, and Draco couldn't help himself but smirk. She didn't know how to act around his mother; but she thought, why did it matter to her?

"Narcissa, please," Draco's mother insisted.

"Sure, Narcissa," Hermione relented. Her hands trembled from the feeling of Narcissa's hand against her a while ago. _This was the sister of the woman who tortured me_ , Hermione remembered. But she didn't hold grudges toward Draco or his mother; it was simply uncomfortable. "How about I make some tea while the two of you catch up?"

"Let me—"

"No, it's alright," Hermione interrupted Draco. She walked to the kitchen as fast as she could before Draco could stop her. She needed to move before she could say something terrible. She didn't have any reason to hate Narcissa, but her heart thumped inside her chest so loud that it rang in her ears. Her fingers trembled as she heated the tea, her mind occupied with thoughts she couldn't piece together, and she hissed a cry when her finger touched the hot kettle.

Draco had almost taken a seat next to his mother on the couch when he heard Hermione. He looked at his mother and excused himself. When he reached Hermione, she had her finger pressed on her mouth. "I told you to let me do it," Draco remarked. He took her finger and pressed it on the cold water that run from the faucet. She hissed again, and his head quickly turned to her. Her eyes were closed as if relief finally flooded her.

"It's fine. It's just a small burn," Hermione said.

"How about you take a seat and let me finish this?" Draco asked.

"But you haven't had breakfast yet," Hermione raised her eyebrow. Draco washed his hands, taking the pot holder in his hand, and finishing what she was doing earlier. "I prepare some grilled cheese. I left some for you earlier…"

"I appreciate that, Granger. But really, sit," Draco chuckled. He prepared three cups on the tray. Carefully, he poured the tea onto each of the empty cups. He didn't mix anything else on the two cups except for the third—mixing it with milk and honey. Hermione watched as he did; and she smiled at his gesture. He did not need to be told about what she liked; he already knew.

Draco delivered the tray to the living room where his mother sat patiently. Hermione followed up from behind him and sat again near the fireplace. She generally liked that space. It provided her warmth and comfort that nothing else could've. She didn't feel alone whenever she sat next to the fire; it always made her feel as if someone sat next to her.

"Tea, Mother," Draco said and handed the warm cup to his mother. Narcissa accepted it with a smile. "I wish you'd would've told me yesterday that you were coming. Or last night."

"Oh, really, Draco," Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "Can't I just visit my son because I miss him?"

"You've just seen me on your birthday."

"And you haven't replied to any of my owls," Narcissa chided.

"There's nothing much to tell, Mother. You send me an owl everyday, and the days are the same as the others," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I can't really imagine anything to tell you."

Narcissa sighed. She took a sip in her tea before setting it down on the coffee table. She raised her head to see Hermione holding the cup of tea in her hand but not drinking it. Draco must've seen her looking when he followed her eyes, and saw the same thing, before saying, "Granger, your tea's getting colder."

Hermione blinked at sound of Draco's voice. She almost felt his breath against her earlobes, but she must be imagining things. She looked back to Draco and smiled faintly before finally dousing her tongue with the tea he prepared for her.

"Well, I was thinking of inviting you to lunch today. I hear there's a wonderful place in Diagon Alley right across Twilfitt and Tatting's," Narcissa said. Her smile was genuine, Hermione noticed. It was obvious how she clearly adored her son.

"I can't leave Hermione here," Draco said. Hermione's name passed his lips without a second thought. She almost closed her eyes at how beautiful it sounded from his lips. But she shook the thought away. Why was she thinking about these things? He always referred to her as Granger, and even if it wasn't the first time he called her Hermione, it still sent shivers down her spine whenever he did. "Not right now, Mother. Perhaps another time—"

"She would be most welcome to join," Narcissa meddled. She grinned, waving her hands. "Isn't that right, Miss Granger? I'm sure you'd enjoy a nice walk…"

"It's not the right time, Mother," Draco said.

"That would be nice," Hermione said. The words escaped her mouth in a surprise, that even herself was taken aback by what she said. She didn't know where she exactly found her strength to say that, or to even think that she could walk in Diagon Alley without fear of being attacked again. _Not a place in this world was safe_ , she thought. Draco frowned; but she showed him a small smile. "I mean, it's getting rather boring here. It might be nice to see a different scene…"

Narcissa beamed to her son. She almost spilled the tea that she had been drinking; but her smile was unbreakable. She said, "Then it's settled, Draco. There's no need to fuss. I'm sure she's safe enough to go out with two able persons with her. I am, at least, a good witch, don't you think?"

Draco sighed. He turned to Hermione with such concern, and his concern faded once he saw her face. Her face lightened—although not too much—but her face flushed as if she felt excitement. "Alright," he said. "But you're not leaving my side. I can't have Potter beheading me if someone even tried to touch your hair."

Hermione allowed herself to smile wider, before nodding. She turned to Narcissa, "Let me get dressed first. Give me ten minutes."

Narcissa replied with, "Take all the time you need, dear."

Hermione hurried to her room. She left the door ajar and changed into a new set of clothes when she heard a soft knock. She didn't turn to face the door but she stopped midway from pulling shirt down when she heard a man's voice saying, "May I come in?"

"Sure," Hermione said, pulling the hem of her shirt down. She turned around to see Draco standing with his eyes looking at his shoes. "Do you need something?"

"Granger," Draco began. "You don't have to do this. I can just tell her to reschedule—"

"Your mother clearly wants to spend time with you," Hermione said.

"I know. She is always like that. I'm sure she'll understand—"

"Draco," Hermione said. His name on her tongue tasted like sugar. How can his name taste like sugar? It was just letters and sounds. But his name passing her lips seemed… comfortable. She could say his name over and over again, and never tire herself. "It's fine. I need to get out too. There's something I need from the Apothecary too—"

"I can just pick it up for you later," Draco said.

"Please," and Draco's knees felt weak at her plea. "I'm scared too. Of having to show myself in public again. People will talk. People will look. They're gonna say things—a lot of things. But I can't hide in your flat forever."

"Hermione," Draco said. He took a step forward. He closed the distance between them, and Hermione felt that she needed to step back—but she remained. Her breath hitched as he came closer. _Oh gods_ , she thought. "My mother is a good woman. She's not like…"

"…Bellatrix?" Hermione asked. "I know. I trust you."

 _I trust you._ Merlin's beard, Draco couldn't help but clench his fists right now. He needed to control himself. His insides burned at the sound of her voice. How he could hear her breathing right now. His fingers tingled as if he wanted to reach out and… Draco cleared his throat and said, "Alright. I'll see you outside."

 _No, Draco. Get a fucking grip._

When Draco left, Hermione was left alone in her room. She stood frozen with questions in her head. What the hell just happened? Her eyes focused on the spot where he stood. It was approximately just two feet away from where she was. Hermione's legs weakened as she thought about the last minute. She remembered the words she told him; she trusted him. She felt secure with him. She _trusted_ him enough for her to face the public again, despite their lack of better judgment about the tragedy. Not that it wasn't true that she trusted him, it was; it was just unusually comfortable. Nothing felt more right than what she said and it bothered her.

But she shook her head while pulling her hair into a bun.

Hermione returned to the living room and saw the two Malfoys waiting. She pressed her lips before joining the two in their trip to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Lunch was wonderful. The new restaurant served good meals that fulfilled Hermione's appetite. Draco sat next to her while Narcissa sat across. Some people at the restaurant were looking their way as Hermione ate through her meal; but Draco nudged her leg under the table, telling her to ignore it. Of course, Draco knew Hermione couldn't help it. But she tried.

Narcissa invited the two of them to accompany her to Madam Malkin's to pick up her orders. Hermione agreed, and Draco went along with whatever Hermione wanted. She needed this; and if this was the only time she would've felt as if she was still a member of the Wizarding community, he'd let her. His head turned sideways, being wary of his surrounding, and waiting for any suspicious incidents. Ahead of him, Narcissa blabbered to Hermione about robes and nonsensical things that women talk about; but he saw Hermione smiling again as if she was intrigued by his mother's ideas.

Draco stood at the front of Madam Malkin's while the woman perused through the robes displayed. For a moment, he was alone until Blaise Zabini appeared next to him. Draco didn't know where he came from, but Blaise nudged at him and smirked.

"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" Blaise said, and chuckled. Draco could only roll his eyes. "Glad I found you here. Saved me the trip…"

"Trip?" Draco inquired.

"Oh, I meant to owl you. We need to talk," Blaise said. Suddenly, the light atmosphere that Draco usually felt around Blaise had turned into something serious and ominous; and Draco's head tilted back to the shop. The two women were unaware of Blaise's arrival as they talked to Madam Malkin. "Perhaps we could talk somewhere more… private."

"Can't," Draco said. "Mother's in there with Granger."

Blaise laughed. "Your Mother, shopping with Granger, eh?"

"I am rather shocked too," Draco said. He looked around and tapped Blaise's shoulder. "There might be an alley around here where we can talk."

Reaching the alley, it was secluded. There was a large garbage can on the side that remained slightly open with its overwhelming contents and its sides were also filled with dirt. It smelled rotten. Draco casted a spell that concealed the two of them for a while before allowing Blaise to talk. But Blaise did not talk. Instead, he handed Draco a piece of parchment from his pockets.

Intrigued, Draco unfolded the paper and the words written in a neat script appeared before him. He carefully read the message before he eyed Blaise. "Who received it?" Draco asked, refolding the paper and handing it back to Blaise.

"The Minister," Blaise said. "He asked me to follow it. But not to tell Granger."

"Why not?"

"You know how she is. She's not fine," Blaise informed. "You of all people know that she would immediately sacrifice herself to these psychos if she knew…"

"The Minister hides a lot of things, Blaise," Draco said. Even he pitied that Hermione knew so little about the investigation.

"And for good reason," Blaise defended. He let out a sigh. "I get it. We're all rushing to finish this investigation. But believe me, there's not much to say. This is the only solid evidence we got since Granger went to the crime scene. Even that proved to be fruitless."

It was Draco's turn to sigh. He was restless too.

"So, what now?" Draco asked. "Did you find who wrote that?"

"Not yet. But it was a woman's handwriting. Left-handed. There were no stamps on it, so I suppose it wasn't delivered through post. No owl came by the Minister's office, so that's another no. The chances of me finding her is rather thin," Blaise said—defeat could be heard in his voice. "We only have four hours left. Five, if we're so lucky."

"Four hours?" Draco raised his voice. Blaise nodded. "How long have you had this, then?"

"Last night," Blaise said. "The Minister received it yesterday."

"Why didn't he ask you to pursue it as soon as possible?"

"Because the risk of anyone else knowing," Blaise snapped. "The Minister is careful. As we should be. The killers might be working for the Ministry. Or at least some of them. They easily slipped this letter into the Minister's office without anyone noticing. Plus, the blood on the crime scene? That was Ron's. It was taken a few days before the word was written, and by that time, Ron's body had already been locked in forensics."

Draco's head spun. Blaise's voice slurred as Draco felt a terrible headache coming around. Why didn't Blaise talk to him beforehand? _Fuck_ , Draco pressed his knuckles to his side. How was he supposed to tell this to Hermione? She terrified him. Not that she terrified him in its basic sense, but he feared of what she might do to herself if she knew. _Alright, Merlin, I care about her_ , Draco admitted to himself. And for reasons unknown, he allowed it to happen. This was not the plan.

"Draco," Blaise called. Draco raised his head. "You can't tell Granger. You know what she would do—"

"I know, I know. Merlin," Draco said irritably.

"Thank you. I'll keep in touch," Blaise said. He tapped Draco on the shoulder. "Be careful, mate. Take care of yourself." By that, Blaise disapparated.

When Draco returned to the shop, Narcissa and Hermione were waiting. In both of their hands were bags of new robes, as he supposed. But he didn't comment on it. Instead he eased and placed his hands deep in his pockets. They must not notice his anxiety. Narcissa smiled at his arrival, asking, "Dear, we've been waiting. Where have you gone to?"

"Just a walk," Draco breathed. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Narcissa nodded. "Hermione here mentions that she needs to stop by at the Apothecary. Shall we go then?"

"Alright," Draco nodded. He opened the door for the ladies and followed them outside. Amidst the crowd that flooded Diagon Alley, Draco walked behind the two women down the street. He heard nothing but noise and chatter. Even he couldn't hear what Hermione and his mother were talking about. But he didn't mind. His mind was rather occupied with what Blaise had told him earlier.

When they arrived at the Apothecary, Hermione went in herself. Narcissa decided to wait outside and peruse through the street peddlers who sells cheap jewelry. Draco followed Hermione, and he saw her standing at the counter. She pressed on the bell that sat on the side, giving it a ring, but no other sound came. Draco shifted his gaze around the place.

 _Why does it smell so rotten?_ Draco thought. _Perhaps it was the potions being brewed._

Hermione faced Draco. Draco noticed her lips pressed as she stood in front of him, as if she wanted to say something, but remained quiet. Draco smirked, "Don't let it get hitched in your throat, Granger. Words may choke…"

Hermione's lips twitched into a smile.

"I just want to thank you," she said. "For allowing me to go here. This is nice."

"It's no problem—"

An explosion came from behind Hermione, sending her flying toward Draco, and without a second, both of them were on the ground. The shelf that stood next to them earlier had now collapsed and its head caught on the head of the other shelf, rendering them under it. Fortunately, it was only a shelf of stacked papers. Hermione let out a cry as Draco placed his hand on her hair. She rested her head on his chest; while Draco's eyes restlessly wandered through the place—all he saw were paper flying around, heard glasses breaking, and someplace, fire trickling.

Draco craned his head down to see Hermione, but she clutched tightly to his torso. She let out another whimper when he moved as if she didn't want him to. "Hermione," he whispered. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" His hand grazed on her back, and he felt her shiver to his touch. God. If this wasn't only the worst time to… _Merlin_ , he cursed. "Hermione, please…"

Hermione slowly lifted her head. Their eyes meet for a minute. She didn't blink; neither did he. He only stared at her face. Her cheeks were smudge with dust. Her lips trembled as a tear slid across her cheek, and he did his best not to wipe it off. His hands went to grip her arms before looking around. "Are you alright? Is there something hurting? Are you bleeding—"

"I don't know…" Hermione stifled a sob.

"We have to get out of here," Draco said. His hand reached for hers. His hands were as sweaty as hers; but none of it mattered. They needed to get out of there. Slowly, he pulled himself away from her and asked her to follow him outside. Both of them crawled toward the exit. Draco shifted his place and kicked the door down.

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice wailed as Draco emerged from under the fallen shelf and through the doors. She saw him crouch down. Next thing she knew, in his arms were Hermione Granger. She immediately rushed to them. "Are you alright, Draco? Draco—"

Draco shook his head, "I'm fine, Mother. It's Hermione…" He adjusted his stand before tightening his hold on hers. She felt limp in his arms. Small. Fragile. Draco felt her trembling in his arms again. The same as when he found her in her bath—shaking uncontrollably.

"Did someone call for help?" He asked his mother. Narcissa nodded. "I need you to take her back to the flat and stay with her. I have to stay here—"

"But Draco, you're bleeding!" Narcissa cried.

Draco hadn't realized that the side of his neck bled. He didn't know where the blood was coming from. It must've been when he hit his head. But he couldn't feel it. He shook his head, "I'll be fine, Mother. I promise. You have to take her and return to the flat. No one can penetrate the wards. Please, Mother…" His eyes begged her to do as he said; and Narcissa softened at Draco's eyes.

She nodded. Draco shook Hermione, whispering, "Granger, Mother's taking you back. I have to stay, okay?" He felt her shake her head with her hand fisting around the collar of his shirt. "No, you have to go. It's not safe anymore…"

Hermione whimpered, "No. Don't leave—"

"That's not up for discussion, Granger," he said. His voice was hard. He needed it to be. He placed her down and forced her hand to touch Narcissa's—and with a pop, both of them disappeared. He turned around the street where wizards and witches were watching them. Some photographers from the Prophet had already arrived at the scene. But he couldn't see a familiar face.

Not one. He looked at the shop; and he was alone.

* * *

The two women apparated back in front of Draco's building. Hermione almost lost her balance if Narcissa hadn't been there to catch her. Narcissa assisted Hermione into the building, and into the flat, before checking the wards. She trusted her son's abilities to set up the wards but a second check would be safer. If it meant that Hermione would be safer…

Narcissa felt restless. Just as Draco. Just as the woman who sat on the couch with her hands fidgeting. She hadn't seen Hermione like this; and it terrified her. What does she need to do? Narcissa ran to his son's room and checked his cabinet for any Draught of Peace. She knew that his son suffered nightmares, and even helped her son brew it to help him sleep. When she found what she was looking for, Narcissa ran back to Hermione and told her to drink it.

Hermione shook her head.

"Please, Hermione, it would help," Narcissa said. Of course, she didn't believe it. Her voice cracked; and her firm tone had gone. Hermione lifted her bloodshot eyes to the woman standing in front of her, holding a small vial of turquoise blue liquid, before nodding. Narcissa uncapped the vial and handed it to Hermione, watching as the young woman doused her mouth with it. "You will be fine, alright? I won't be leaving. It's alright…"

Hermione closed her eyes. She tried to remember what happened. A loud explosion. She clashed against Draco's, and he caught her. Both of them landed hard on the cold ground. Her ears started ringing, and she let out a sob. _Oh god, not this again_. Flashes of that night. Her argument with Ron. Her nightmares. Everything came at her in an attack that seemed to penetrate Hermione's mind until she could no longer think.

"Where's Draco?" Hermione asked. Narcissa looked at her, eyes filling with worry.

"He's still at Diagon Alley—"

"We have to go back!" Hermione rose from her seat; but rocked as she found her sight spinning before her. "We have to…"

"Hermione, Draco asked me to stay here with you. It's much safer here. His wards will protect us, and I'm not leaving. He's worried," Narcissa assured her. Her hand reached out to tuck the stray hair from Hermione's face behind her ears; and she worried too much. The potion hasn't kicked in yet. So Narcissa placed her hand on top of Hermione's, holding her hand like she used to do with Draco's whenever he woke up to a nightmare.

"I'll stay here," Narcissa said. "I won't leave…"

* * *

Harry Potter arrived at Diagon Alley as soon as he received the news about the explosion. Blaise Zabini followed from behind him, and together they made their way toward the Apothecary. The crowd had thickened, flooded with gossipers and journalists, which made it difficult for the two of them to pass through. Nonetheless, Harry excused himself through the crowd when he was greeted by Draco Malfoy's presence at the scene.

What was he doing here? If he was here, so must be Hermione. "Why are you here?" Harry inquired as they reached the broken door of the potions shop. Harry's breath got trapped in his throat as the chatter came louder around him; but he shrugged it off.

"I was here when the shop exploded. In fact, I was under that shelf," Draco said, pointing to the shelf that had recently pinned him down with Hermione.

"Where's Hermione?"

"She's safe—"

"Where is she?" Harry's voice raised, and his eyes furious. Draco didn't know why he was so mad. "Malfoy, I'm not gonna ask again."

"She's back at the flat. My mother's with her—"

"Your mother—" Harry lunged at Draco with his hands gripping on the collar of his shirt. Draco recoiled and raised his hands as if to immediately surrender from Harry's attack. "What was she doing out, anyway? Your job was to protect her—"

Blaise touched Harry's shoulders and pulled him back, slowly. Realizing that he had made a scene, the crowd had gone quiet as they watched the three Aurors. It was quite a show. Draco straightened his clothes as Harry stepped back and sighed, "My mother invited us for lunch. She wanted to go; and believe me, I asked her to change her mind. But she said she needed it…"

"She's not fine," Harry hissed. His voice was threatening but low as if he didn't want to expose Hermione's state of mind. Closing his eyes, Harry sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, Malfoy. I didn't mean to take it out on you, okay? It's just… a crazy day."

Draco nodded in understanding.

"Will you tell us what happened?" Blaise asked, arms crossed.

"I accompanied Hermione to the shop. My mother was outside, looking around. We were talking when the explosion happened; and Hermione crashed into me. The shelf fell too, and thank Merlin that it was only stacked with papers. We crawled out of there," Draco said.

"And why are you bleeding?"

"I don't know, really," Draco said. "It must've been when I fell. It was fast."

"You should get to St. Mungo's, Draco," Blaise said. Harry nodded in agreement. "Come on, I'll take you." Blaise's hand reached for Draco's arm but Draco pulled it back in annoyance.

"Not until we survey the scene," Draco snapped. His shoulders stiff. His neck hurt. His head pounded. He could think of a hundred other places where it hurt; but he wasn't about to leave the crime scene just yet. Not until they find something valuable. "I'll be fine."

Blaise looked at Harry for confirmation. Draco surveyed the crowd again. There were still no familiar faces that struck Draco's attention. When he turned back to the two other Aurors, Harry nodded. They all went into the Apothecary and coughed at the horrible stench that filled the air.

"Merlin's beard, what is that smell?" Blaise choked, with a hand covering his nose. Draco had already familiarized with the smell. He had been inhaling the same stench for the last ten minutes; so Draco led the two others inside.

"It must be some of the potions," Harry said.

Draco went on to the deep part of the shop. He ventured down the hall when he found his feet pulling to a halt. Draco ran and shouted, "Potter! Zabini!" A man in his early thirties lied unconscious with blood spilling from its eye sockets down the hall. He was wearing a dirty black apron, and Draco realized that this was the man who managed the Apothecary. Harry and Blaise came staggering behind him, and all three stared at the first dead body in front of them.

* * *

Hermione finished her fifth cup of tea with a couple of gulps. She lifted the teapot from the tray to pour herself another when she realized that it had already been empty. Narcissa eyed her carefully. Hermione set the teapot back into the silver tray before she began fidgeting with her fingers again. The two women sat on the couch for thirty minutes after they returned from Diagon Alley, and none of them spoke about the incident.

Hermione knew that if she talked, she wouldn't be able to prevent herself from ranting. She bit her lip so hard until she tasted the blood spreading across her tongue. Her fingers knotted with each other in attempts to gain control of herself—something that she was unsuccessful of.

Why did she even worry? She's safe. The flat is heavily warded. No one can come through the wards except the ones registered to it. But she worried anyway. For reasons unknown, she worried about Draco. Hermione knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. But what if the killers were inside the Apothecary, and help didn't come around until he was badly hurt? What if that was the first part of the explosion and Draco got caught in the second part? What if the Minister asked him to step down from protecting her because he took her to Diagon Alley? Draco plagued her thoughts. Why, she didn't know. She just couldn't calm herself down until she saw him.

Draco was tasked to protect her. And over the last few weeks, she built a relationship with him. A friendship. Her walls slowly came undone as he assured her that she was safe. That hiding behind walls were nothing to be ashamed of. That being scared even once in a while wasn't bad. That it wasn't her fault. Draco made her feel safe when every place in the world scared her. His arms locked her, gripping her into reality, that he was there standing in front of her, and that as long as he held her, she was safe.

Even if they weren't exactly friends, Hermione found solace in his presence. She didn't know how it happened. But he cared for her just as a friend would. Admittedly, she considered him a friend. Perhaps the only friend she has right now.

The door swung open, and both heads turned to the front door. Hermione's breath hitched when Draco walked in, limping on his left leg, and a bandage placed on the side of his neck. He looked dirty. Covered in dust and smoke. His face darkened, and his pale hair sprinkled with grey particles. She didn't notice Narcissa standing and reaching over to embrace her son. Draco slowly returned the hug with one arm before setting his eyes past to see Hermione.

"Mother," Draco said. "I'm fine. The Healers said it was nothing. Just a cut. Nothing fatal." Narcissa released him with a smile.

"Well, I suppose I should make more tea—"

"No, Mother," Draco interrupted. He held her forearm, stopping her as she went to the kitchen. Narcissa eyed her son with a pointed look. "Please. Just go home. I'll take care of this. We're fine. And I promise I will answer your owls."

Hermione watched as he placed a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead.

"Alright, then," Narcissa said. Her voice low and sad; but she didn't complain. Narcissa reached over to Hermione's shaking hand, smiling warmly, "Owl me if you need anything, Hermione. Anything at all." Narcissa pulled back—her eyes shifting from Hermione to Draco, who stood tall but slouched due to his body ache. Then she left the same way Draco came in.

Silence filled the entire house. The fire that kept burning on the fireplace didn't even make a sound. At least, nothing he could hear. Draco limped toward the couch; but he was caught off guard when Hermione pushed both of her fists against his chest. He staggered back, completely taken by surprise at her supposed anger.

"YOU BASTARD!" Her eyes filled with tears. She landed punch after punch in Draco's chest but he didn't stop her. After a few, she felt weak; her arms gave up at her movements. Even her knees buckled. But Draco held her elbows up. She wanted to slap him hard. Hurt him. "Why—"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Draco whispered.

"…you stupid, stupid arse…"

"I know."

"Why did you leave me?" Hermione finally finished her question. She hadn't meant to ask him that; but the words that had been trapped in her mouth for half an hour finally came out. Hermione wasn't terrified of people leaving; but when Ron died, she thought that everyone around her would as well.

"I had to stay behind," Draco explained. "Potter and Zabini came around as soon as they can. We found a body. It was… it was the Apothecary shoekeeper. He had 'Mudblood' carved on his chest."

"What?" Hermione's head lifted. Her red eyes wide. "Someone died—"

"Granger—"

"NO! SOMEONE DIED BECAUSE OF ME—"

"Granger—"

"MUDBLOOD! I'M THE MUDBLOOD, MALFOY! SOMEONE DIED—"

"For Salazar's sake, he was better _dead_ than you!" Draco's voice towered over her in an authoritative voice that Hermione had never heard before. Blood drained from her face; and all her anger seemed to have been lost. But shock came after. Hermione stepped back. The tips of fingers finally unclasping from the curve of her elbows, and it felt cold. She felt cold. She watched in horror as he breathed in front of her. He didn't say anything else.

Before she could hear another word from him, Hermione ran to her bedroom. She locked the door and let herself fall into the floor. A hand clutched to her chest. And she cried.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hello, guys! I rushed this little baby here; but I didn't expect it to be this long. This has got to be my longest chapter. But if you ask me, I don't really know how to feel about this chapter. Too many things happening. We'll see what happens in the next chapter. More revelations are coming up; so stay tuned. Apologies for the errors; deep gratitude for the wonderful reviews and endless support and patience. I really do hope you enjoyed this one; but tell me so if you didn't (or did). Well, cheers! Thank you!_

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven:**

"Promise me, Hermione," Harry said. His eyes searched for truth in Hermione's; but he frowned.

Hermione sighed. In her hand, she clutched an orange bottle filled with sleeping pills. The last time she had this was last year. She had nightmares about the war; and sleeping pills helped calm her down. At least, it dosed her in deep slumber. But after a while, she had to stop. She looked at Harry—his green eyes watching her and waiting for an assurance. So she gave him what he wanted.

"I promise," she said. _God, you can't even believe yourself. How is he going to believe you?_

She looked around. Draco stood on the other side, talking to Blaise Zabini. She watched him tap Blaise's shoulder; before she turned back to Harry. A moment later, the Minister approached her. "Thank you for coming, Miss Granger," Minister Shacklebolt said. His hand gestured for her to take a seat at one of the chairs lined up behind the long table.

Hermione Granger shifted, as she noticed the crowd thickening inside the conference room. The Minister called for a press conference regarding the investigation; and Hermione was invited. She could've said no, but whatever reason, Hermione said yes. The moment she sat, the noise that filled the atmosphere died down and she knew that all eyes were on hers.

For more than two weeks, Hermione hid in Draco's flat. The walls of that house built her a sanctuary; perhaps the only place she felt safe right now. There were no cameras flashing, no one talking, no one looking—and for once in Hermione's life, her life was quiet. There are only so few people who she talked to, and among them was Draco Malfoy. If someone told her seven years ago that she'd be friends with Draco Malfoy, she would've laughed and called them bonkers.

 _Friends_. Hermione clearly didn't know if they were really friends. But his actions toward her suggest that perhaps they were. One look, and he knew what she was feeling. No other words need to be spoken because her body already speak for her when her mouth couldn't. He was unpredictable, and everything he did only confused her more. His gestures, his words, his looks—she couldn't read through him. He wasn't transparent. In fact, she knew that he hid his secrets better than hers.

He intrigued her. She wanted to know him. But how would she? That question lingered longer than she anticipated; and without noticing, her fingers locked tight with each other as if meant to pull her fingers off her palms one by one. She didn't notice it until Hermione felt a cold hand grab her wrist. Immediately, she stole a glance to the owner of the hand.

Draco Malfoy held her wrist. He sat next to her, not looking, but his hand wrapped tight around wrist. She didn't even realize when he sat at her side. But her fingers suddenly relaxed at his grip. Why was he holding her? She thought of pulling hand off, but then her hands would keep on trembling. So she remained still.

The conference began with the Minister explaining yesterday's events. An unexpected explosion occurred at the Apothecary located at North Side, Diagon Alley while Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were inside to purchase some potions. Hermione tried her best to listen; but the sound of snapping cameras and journalists chattering made her head ache. She wanted to get out now. She couldn't stay any longer. And Hermione held her breath for a long time until she felt faint. Next to her was Draco, who didn't loosen his grip on her wrist, but her hands moved unconsciously as if to remove his hand. Her eyes watched him; but he didn't look at her. His fingers tightened, and Hermione feared there might be a bruise afterwards.

His hand sweated against her skin. But then, it didn't matter. The entire room was warm, and there wasn't enough room for her to breathe anymore. On her other side was the Minister, next was Harry, and then Blaise. Hermione looked to the front and saw unfamiliar faces of people wanting to get a story; but she wasn't ready to tell her story.

How would she be ever ready to tell everyone how Ron died? That his death was on her hands? How was she going to admit that it was her fault? That their fairytale relationship ended in nothing but tragedy? She hated that she had to be in the middle of everything. She hated the spotlight; and her friends were better at handling the press than she ever was. She hated being talked about. She hated that people stuck their noses into her life like garbage flies.

Smelling dirt on people. That was what their job was.

"…now for questions," Minister Shacklebolt began, and Hermione thought that this was the beginning of the end.

A loud rupture came from the journalists. Most of them stood from their seats, throwing questions in the air, and Hermione barely understood their words. She drowned in their inquiries. A feeling of nausea came over her. Draco still hasn't released her wrist, and it had already numbed in his grip. Until Blaise got up as well and asked everyone to ask the questions one at a time.

A woman rose from her seat, and asked, "Do you have any suspects as of the moment?"

Hermione felt a shudder in her spine. The crowd waited for an answer, and the Minister looked as if he wanted to pass out. "No," Minister Shacklebolt sighed. Another murmur in the crowd. "We have not identified any suspects. But the investigation is still underway."

"Have you solved how Mr. Weasley died?"

It was Harry's turn. Hermione heard him say, "Yes. He died when a set of knives struck to his chest."

"Isn't that such a muggle way to die?"

"It is," Harry answered. He leaned to the table in front of him and continued, "And we think that perhaps that was intended to happen."

"But the shoekeeper… he died through the Killing curse?"

"And…?"

"It doesn't add up," one of the reporters said.

The Minister interrupted when Harry couldn't find the right words anymore. Hermione listened as best as she could while her chest nearly gave up holding such a heavy heart. "None of this adds up," Minister Shacklebolt said. He sighed. "We're clearly behind the investigation. Weeks after Miss Granger's attack, nothing happens; and now, we are bombarded with more attacks. So, why do they need to stop before? Why don't they continue their killing spree?"

"…maybe they're waiting for something."

"Perhaps. But we promise to bring those responsible for these attacks to justice," The Minister said. Hermione leaned back on her chair with eyes closed. Draco's hand pressed against her wrist, and she looked at him.

He watched her. Grey eyes shone against the bright lights that filled the room, and suddenly, everything seemed to slow down.

"One last question. To Miss Granger…" Hermione straightened from her seat in surprise. The attention was now centered on her, and she wished they'd turn the other way around. "Were you preparing to leave Mr. Ron Weasley the night you were attacked?"

There was an audible gasp from the room. Most came from the crowd. Hermione came soon after, and she felt the corner of her eyes stinging with tears. Hermione stared at the woman who asked, realizing that it was none other than Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet. Where did she get that idea? Even now that Hermione remembered the events of that night, she didn't know the answer to that question. Was she preparing to leave Ron, hadn't it been for the attack? Was she actually turning her back on him after seven years of being together?

Hermione opened her mouth. Nothing came out. "I—"

"That question is not permitted here, Ms. Skeeter." A voice erupted from her side, and it took a while for Hermione to grasp what was said and who said it. Her head turned to Draco, who still held her wrist under the table, and his body leaning forward. He spoke for the first time, and the words that came out of his mouth shocked everyone. He continued, "This press conference is about the explosion at the Apothecary on twenty-fifth of August 2004; and attacking Miss Granger with personal questions is prohibited."

"Why? Isn't she a suspect?"

"Of course, she isn't!" Harry rose from his seat. Rage boiled inside him; and Draco feared that he might not be able to control it. "I know what happened that night—"

"ENOUGH." The Minister's voice rose higher than Harry's. Minister Shacklebolt glanced at Harry, with eyes asking him to settle down. "Goading us into revealing anything further about the investigation isn't going to work here, Ms. Skeeter. I'd advise you to sit back down, if you may." His sight wandered through the crowd and said, "Now, if there aren't any more questions. Then we'll conclude this—"

"I have!" Hermione saw a hand raise from the back of the crowd. It was a man's voice. Deep, hoarse. As if he drunk acid for breakfast. The crowd slowly turned their heads to follow the owner of that voice, and gently, the man rose from his seat. Hermione didn't recognize him. Tall, tanned, and fine posture; but his face remained a question to Hermione's. "It's not exactly a question. More like a message," he added. She felt bile rose from her stomach to her throat.

Harry asked, "Message from who?"

"Message from them," the man said. " _No Mudblood deserves to have a child_."

Mudblood. Child. _Her child_.

Hermione gasped as her chest collapse to her feet. Stumped, broken. She heard nothing afterwards but slur and static noise. Her body remained planted on the chair. Unable to move. Unable to stand. Unable to turn. Over the noise that filled her surroundings, she heard her own breathing. It came from the bottom of her lungs, and yet it was not enough for her to calm. The image in front of her slowed. Everything moved except hers. The crowd screamed and ran while Draco's hands slipped from her wrist, and she felt empty. The man who asked the question had his arm raise and a hand holding the hilt of a gun with its barrel pointed at Hermione's way.

This was her death. She closed her eyes slowly, and waited.

A gunshot snapped her out of her reveries; and the next thing happened, Hermione found herself on the ground, behind the table, with Draco Malfoy. His hands gripped her shoulders. The noise that was slurring in Hermione's ears earlier was then replaced by the actual screams and clatter made by the crowd. Hermione saw Harry on the other side, and she could tell that he wanted to reach her but was too far to touch.

"Granger! Are you hurt?" Draco asked, his hands cupping her ears. Her hair pressed against her cheeks as he did.

"I—"

"Come on!" Without hesitation, Hermione felt her hand clasp Draco's. He helped her rise, and what Hermione saw was the man subdued by Aurors. She went stiff at the man's laughter. He screamed while the Aurors held him in place, shouting in rage, "Mudblood! Good riddance that you lost your child—"

Hermione widened her eyes in horror.

Harry reached out and blew a hard punch squarely on the man's face. But the laughter did not cease from ringing in Hermione's ears. It roared into fits of giggles. Blaise grabbed Harry's arms and pulled him back before he could lunge again.

"My… my ch—"

"Granger," Draco whispered. "Hermione, please." He did not know what he pleaded for. But he watched her shake in his hands. Her shoulders stiff and agitated. Her eyes looking all over the place. Her fingers hardened as she tried to grip something. His hand—

"Malfoy," Blaise's voice came. Draco looked up, but Hermione stilled. "Take her home, will you?" Without a second thought, Draco disapparated with Hermione's hands still in his.

* * *

Five hours. Five _fucking_ hours. Still waiting.

Draco dropped his head back on the couch as he rubbed his eyes. Five hours have passed since that incident; and Draco waited. Hermione retreated to the guest room without a word after their arrival. Draco decided that it was best to leave her alone for now.

Perhaps Potter can shed some light into what that was all about. The house was quiet. Draco hummed to avoid silence, and the only noise that accompanied him was the fire. He tapped his fingers. He rocked his head from side to side. He moved from the couch to another. He did anything just to pass time; but he still waited.

He hated waiting. In fact, he was the most impatient man. He grew up getting whatever he wanted; and waiting was a waste of time. Waiting prevented him from doing other things. Waiting tired his body even if all he did was sit and grumble. And Draco felt as if he waited for nothing.

 _No Mudblood deserves to have a child._

Draco called Hermione ' _mudblood_ ' back in school. He was raised to look at muggleborns as beneath him; but now, he _detested_ that word. It tasted like acid in his tongue, burning and sour. The taste didn't leave his mouth for days. His stomach twisted oddly. So yesterday, when Hermione referred to herself as the ' _mudblood_ ', his head spun faster than light. He turned to her, wanting to shake the living daylights out of her to get her shit together; but when he saw her falling apart right before his eyes, he knew that she was beyond redemption.

The only person to help her is herself.

The madman shouted, " _Good riddance that you lost your child!_ " But was interrupted when Harry's fist landed right across the man's jaw. Draco didn't know what it meant but he drew his suspicions. He'd ask Hermione, but he doubted that she would talk.

A knock on the door pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He left to open the door, and found Harry agitated. His hair was a mess, plastered with sweat across his forehead. Draco didn't need to tell Harry to come in; instead, Harry just made his way in.

Draco followed Harry to the living room, and Harry asked, "Where is Hermione?"

"In her room. I figured she'd want to be left alone," Draco said. He tilted his head to Hermione's room before shooting a look at Harry. But Harry was already on his way to Hermione's room. Draco followed him for whatever reason. He wasn't sure if it was support he was ready to give or if he was going to stop him from bothering Hermione; but he stood from behind.

Draco crossed his arms while watching Harry.

"It's locked," Harry said. He pointed his wand, and muttered," _Alohomora!_ " The door didn't latch itself open. Harry used other unlocking charms; but the door remained closed.

"You didn't tell me you suck at opening doors, Potter?" Draco snickered. He released his arms from being folded. He excused Harry, and tried to open the door himself. But knob shook and the door was still shut. What the hell did Granger do? He tapped on Hermione's door, and called, "Granger? Open up. Granger, Potter's here—"

"Malfoy, you have to open it up now!"

"Hang on," Draco growled. "Granger! Open up—"

" _Bombarda!_ " Draco almost didn't have time to step back when Harry shouted the spell to the door. He felt a brush of air pass by his shoulder when the door swung open with a bang. Harry sped inside the room, and breathed, "Oh gods, Hermione!" Draco followed Harry inside the room; with his eyes landing directly on an unconscious Hermione Granger, and an empty bottle of muggle medicine right next to her.

Where did she get that?

Draco watched. Harry ran to her side, scooping her head into his arms, with a hand stuck down her throat. He pushed it deeper, and deeper, until both of them heard a choking sound. Harry pushed her forward. Hermione limped against Harry's shoulder while he cupped her mouth. In his hand, he had a handful of vomit—and Draco only watched.

"Malfoy, hold her up—"

He snapped. His body moved as if he didn't need to be told. Draco reached out. Harry moved away from Hermione and cleaned himself. As Harry muttered a couple of spells, Draco felt a vulnerable Hermione leaning against him. He could hear her moaning. Slowly, her eyes flutter open. Draco heard her breathing. Slow but shallow. _Thank Merlin, she's still breathing_ , he thought.

"Draco?" Hermione's voice cracked. Draco turned to Harry, who raised his head from whatever he was doing, and for the first time, Draco didn't know what to do. "What happened—"

"Hermione," Harry hushed her. "It's alright—"

Hermione's head turned. She looked around, and Draco didn't know what her eyes were looking for; but when she saw the empty bottle in Harry's hand, she started shaking. "Harry," she croaked. She lifted her eyes to see Harry, "Why…?"

"Hermione, I can't—"

Then she wailed. Her scream was a high-pitched shrill that erupted from her throat. And it startled Draco, but his hands only tightened around her arms. "Why?! Why?! Harry, why?!" She trashed in Draco's grip but he proved himself stronger than her. He held her in place. Her legs moved up and down over the bed as if she could kick her way out of Draco's grip. "Let me go! Let me go! I want to—"

"Granger! Granger!" Draco called, as Harry stood frozen in front of them. Draco saw him shake as well. But Draco ignored it. He needed to calm Hermione down. He tightened his hold of her and pressed his chest against her back. His chest rumbled, and perhaps she felt it, because she stopped moving. But her grief was far from over. Draco listened to her whimpers, her cries, her hollow sobs; and nothing made sense in this situation but Draco knew he needed to hold her now.

Just for a while.

He pressed his face against her thick hair, and whispered into her ear, "Hermione, please…" Her shoulders softened as he pleaded her. Even her legs stopped trashing. She shook after a few more sobs. But with a deep sigh, she released a whimper. She was calming down. Hermione's fists loosened, and not long, Draco felt her melting in his arms.

"It's alright, Granger," he assured her. "It's alright. No one's hurting you."

She leaned her head over his shoulder. Her curls fell on his back, and he thought of rosemary when the smell of her hair filled his lungs. She gave a tired sob before leaning closer to Draco. He didn't know why he felt so comfortable doing this; but he pushed the thought away.

It wasn't the right time.

Slowly, he pulled his arms off Hermione's. He stood and fixed her limp body properly on the bed. Draco thought of Harry standing behind him watching; but none of it mattered. What mattered now was Hermione. She mattered more than anything.

Her safety. Her sanity.

Hermione shifted on the bed with eyes closed. Exhaustion finally flooding her body after a day of fighting. Of struggling. Of surviving. She was tired. She needed to rest.

Draco covered her bare legs with blanket. He stared, and a desire to push her hair from her face rushed in his skin. But he remembered Harry behind him. Before he could reach out, he pulled himself back. Harry was watching them both carefully when Draco turned.

"She's asleep. She will be for a while," Draco said.

Draco took one last glance at Hermione, and asked, "So, how about some tea, Potter?" Harry looked at him in surprise. "It looks like we've got a lot to talk about, don't you think?" Draco didn't wait for him; he went straight to the kitchen to boil some tea. After a while, Harry followed, still holding that empty bottle in his hand.

None of them spoke first. Until the tea boiled, Draco asked, "Was it the first time?"

"What?"

"Was this the first time she tried to off herself?" Draco repeated. He knew that he needed to be wary of his questions. But taking care of Hermione proved to be more than guarding her. It meant also protecting her from herself.

"No," Harry grumbled. "How'd you know?"

"Well, you came in here and growling that I shouldn't have left her alone. I assumed she must have done this before," Draco said. He poured tea into two cups before handing one to Potter. He accepted the offer with shaking hands.

"I shouldn't have bought her those pills," Harry said. He took a sip in his tea. It was still hot, and he felt his tongue burn, but that felt nothing compared to the thought of what just happened. "She asked me to get it for her. A few days back. But I hesitated because I'm scared she'll do it again. The first time was after the war. She bought loads of sleeping pills. She took two for the night. But when the nightmares got worse, she took a whole bottle. Luckily, Ginny found her. She was barely hanging on. Gods, I almost lost Hermione…" Another sip. He sighed and tapped his foot. He was scared. "I gave her a whole bottle at the conference. I made her promise not to try it again, and she promised; but with the shooter… He taunted her. He provoked her into slipping again. And…"

Draco watched his companion. The Golden Trio had fallen apart. Their faces on the Daily Prophet showed how their lives were better; but now, as Harry unfolded secrets, Draco begged to differ. Hermione was no better than he was. Draco was no better than she was. In fact, both of them were similar in unimaginable ways.

"No Mudblood deserves to have a child," Draco repeated the words of the madman. Harry raised his eyes and sighed. "Care to explain that one?"

"Malfoy, I'm not sure that I'm in any position to say that—"

"You aren't, Potter," Draco agreed. "But as you can see, I'm the one who sees her every day. I see her falling apart. I see her crumbling as if she was a burning building. I see her hanging on a cliffside on her fingernails. And you asked me to look after her. So I need to know."

Harry watched his hands tremble more. He remembered being caught in the middle of his two best friends, both fighting to survive, and he remembered their pain. Their loss. He remembered spending his nights at St. Mungo's after Hermione lost her child while Ron drunk his way to every bar in London. He remembered their eyes, empty and hollow.

He didn't know if Draco could help Hermione. But watching him hold her in place while she trashed, he comforted her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Harry, for once, never knew how to handle Hermione. Hermione was a broken doll that no one could fix. Perhaps, Draco could.

"Why do you care, Malfoy?"

"I don't, really," Draco sneered. _Lie. Of course, it's fucking a lie_. He cared about Hermione whether he admitted it or not. His touch screamed concern for her. "Curious is a better term, Potter."

"Of course, you are," Harry snorted. "Hermione has been through hell—"

"We've all been through hell—"

"Not like her, we haven't," Harry defended. "Last year, she was prepared to leave Ron, alright? Their relationship was broken. Beyond repair, that is. She already talked to Ginny, to me. But a few days later, she found out that she was pregnant. Ron proposed to her. He was determined to fix everything with her now that they were expecting. He thought that it would be better to raise a child if they were married; and Hermione, well, she agreed. It was alright. Until seven months later, a Healer gave her potions to keep her child healthy. She took it, and that evening, she was in the shower when she started bleeding. Ron rushed her into St. Mungo's; but it was too late. The baby was gone… It broke her into a million pieces. She felt as if it was her fault that her child died. Ron drifted away from her. He spent night after night into different bars in London. Hermione—she mourned alone. They fought a lot. Even minutes before the attack, they were fighting again…"

Draco's head swirled. Hermione lost a child. _No Mudblood deserves to have a child_. That was what that meant. The madman's voice echoed into his brain; and he felt his temple throbbing. He thought about her nightmares. Her fears. Her resistance. She saw Ron Weasley die before her eyes; and it was the last straw to whatever kept her alive.

Harry added, "I used my job to keep this out of the papers. I pulled strings just so it wouldn't be reported. Merlin, if this news was released in public, Hermione will fall apart. And now, this happened?" Harry started pacing. "People will come digging into her past. She will… _deteriorate_. Fuck—"

Draco finished his tea, before asking, "Who was the man at the conference?"

"He's a squib. Just like the shoekeeper. We identified him as Roger Wilkins, who worked in a Muggle bank in London. He knew of his heritage; but stayed out since he couldn't do magic. He was taken from his house two days ago, imperiused to go to the conference, and taunt Hermione," Harry explained.

Draco remembered the Minister's question earlier. Why were they attacking now? Why not before? Why wait? If they were waiting for something, what were they waiting for? No matter how much he searched his mind for answers, he knew that he couldn't provide it anyway. There was still too much that they don't know yet.

"Did you try legilimency?"

"They obliviated him of any evidences leading to them," Harry said. "These monsters are smart. Merlin, they know how to taunt Hermione. They know how to say the right words. They know how to hurt her. Not many people knew about the miscarriage. Their actions are unpredictable, which makes it hard to build a pattern…"

"Do you think that her miscarriage was part of this attack?"

Harry raised his eyes, and tried to say something; but nothing came out. _Merlin, that only makes it worse_ , Harry thought. "I—I don't know. Fuck, that would kill her… I can't even imagine—"

"Well, we'll have to keep that to ourselves for now. Alright, Potter," Draco said. "Is there any more news?"

Harry dug his hands through his pockets. Draco watched as he pulled a piece of parchment and handed it to him. It was the same yellowish paper. The smell was even the same. _Merlin, when are they gonna stop?_ Harry began, "It was in the madman's pocket. Read it."

And Draco did. He unfolded the paper and schemed his eyes through the words printed in the same legible script. A woman's handwriting, indeed. _You didn't listen to me. I only kept my word. If you still do not surrender the mudblood to me, then we'll start a war. Every two days that you delay, an innocent muggle will die. And unlike you, I stay true to my words._ Draco closed it again and slipped it in Harry's hand. Harry took it back into his pocket before he left it lying someplace else.

"Will you please look after her?" Harry asked.

The blond lifted his head. He heard the concern in Harry's voice. Laced with shame. It must've been hard for Harry to ask Draco for help; but Harry didn't have any choice. Draco was the closest thing to Hermione right now. He was right. He saw her every day. Draco remembered the first time Harry asked him to look after Hermione. Harry expressed his fears of losing her as well; and Draco thought for a moment before he nodded.

"I will," Draco assured him. From the corner of his eyes, Harry entered Hermione's room. Draco waited at the kitchen, and not long, Harry emerged again. Harry bid him farewell before departing Draco's flat. And Draco allowed silence to fill in.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Well, there's that. Allow me to promote my new story, "Breathe Again". Title comes from Sara Bareilles' song. I think it's darker than this; but feel free to judge when you read it. Anyway, please be free to leave reviews regarding this chapter. I'd like to hear your thoughts. Thanks for the support, and apologies for the errors._

 _PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling._


	13. Important Author's Note

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey, guys! Apologies if I haven't updated this story. This story is currently going under revision. I know that I should've waited to finish it. But, honestly, I need to polish the plot before I can continue because the plot is important, and I still haven't completed it yet. So, so, so, so sorry.

As for the revised version, I will post it as another story. Don't worry, you shall be informed if I have already posted it. But that will take a few more months since I'm planning it once I made it more than 20 chapters. Anyway, thanks, guys, for the endless support.

As for now, I recommend that you read Breathe Again for the meantime. It's not the same, but well, it's what I'm focusing on right now.

I'll update soon. Stay tuned! Love you, guys. 'Til next time!


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